


New Revolutions

by bluejorts



Series: trans androids, or transdroids [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Discussions of sexuality, M/M, Mentions of surgery, Scars, Slow Burn, Trans Character, Trans Connor, Trans Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Trans Hank Anderson, Trans Male Character, Transphobia, anyway thats entirely irrelevant and i love my idiot boys, how does THIS make you feel david cage you fuckin cuck of a man, mlm author, my boyfriend: cecil are u just writing this bc ur angry at terfs, they have no idea how to interact w eachother, trans androids again bitches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-05 18:10:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15176423
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluejorts/pseuds/bluejorts
Summary: Transgender Androids. Is it in their programming?Movements need figureheads. People need to start taking androids seriously. Hank needs to stop being hot for a fucking robot.





	1. Your History

**Author's Note:**

> hey! welcome to trans android central! if you're here to leave a transphobic comment just maybe dont? or at least don't pussy out and make sure you use a logged in account!

_Transgender Androids. Is it in their programming?_

The headline was everywhere, and with it came bigotry that Hank thought they’d left in the past.

“It just doesn’t make _sense_! He was created to be male, why would he change?”

“They’re just trying to seem more deviant than other androids! It’s some kind of robot pissing contest!”

“It’s simple science! They can be as free willed as they like, but they can’t avoid the way they were made!”

It made him want to throw up. Or go home and drink himself into a stupor until this all blew over. Or just shoot the idiots who thought they knew more about deviant machines than the machines themselves.

“This is fucking dumb.” He sighed. “Better not make its way into our ballpark.”

He tossed the magazine down on his desk and turned to face Connor. The android was silent for a change. His brow was furrowed and lips downturned. He looked annoyed - no, confused.

“This is deviant?” He asked.

Hank sighed. “In some people’s books, yeah. We’re barely at a point where people are tolerant of trans _humans_. Trans androids must be blowing the fucking brains of some assholes.”

“But… why would CyberLife -”

“Hey.” Hank scolded, a harsh warning in his tone, “Don’t you be putting these people’s feelings down to CyberLife.”

Connor shook his head. “No, of course not. It’s not - I didn’t know it was deviant. I didn’t realise that my program was…” He trailed off.

“Your program was what, Connor?”

Connor met his eye. “I was intended as a female model. I was put together as female but when they programmed me they made a mistake, and they tried to give me a female name and I rejected it and - they used that term. They called me transgender.”

Hank stood up and brushed off his pants unnecessarily. “C’mon. We’re going for a walk.”

“A walk?”

“A walk.”

Connor made no protest (for once). He trailed behind Hank as they left the building and kept slightly back as Hank took off slowly down the street. The detective huffed and pulled Connor in line with him by his lapel, not harshly but in a commanding action that Connor barely resisted.

“First off,” Hank started once they were away from anyone who could feasibly be a part of the police force, “they didn’t mess up with your programming. They messed up by giving you a female body.” He kept glancing at Connor as he spoke. The man seemed even more confused than earlier, his mouth hanging open ever so slightly more than usual. “And second off, deviancy ain’t a bad thing. Right?

“Right.” Connor spoke slowly, as though the words he was parroting were still imparting their meaning onto him. “But -”

“Go on.”

“But they let me work. They - they let me change my appearance. They didn’t fix me.”

“Kid. That’s cause you don’t need fixing. Seems like the one non-shit thing about CyberLife is that maybe they didn’t see you being trans as a sign of deviancy.” He ran his hand through his hair. “You aren’t busy tonight, I’m guessing?”

Connor shook his head. They’d stopped walking now, and Connor was simply watching Hank. His LED ran yellow and blue.

“You’re coming over to my place and we’re watching some old trans movies.”

“I can just download them, you know.” Connor frowned.

“Don’t give a shit. That’s not the same as _watching_.”

“But it’s quicker -”

“Connor, quit being a stubborn asshole and just tell me if you don’t want to come. I’m a shit but I can handle rejection.”

Connor’s frown deepened. “I wasn’t saying no, Lieutenant. I was just pointing out that it would be faster and more logical for me to download the information.”

“You were being a pedant, smartass. Just trust me on this one, it’s different to watch.”

“Okay, fine.”

“That a yes?”

“It is.”

Hank wasn’t sure when it had started feeling like he was asking his partner out on a date. “Great. Be at mine at six. And like, ditch the uniform.”

And of course, Connor arrived at six on the dot. Hank opened the door with a gun in one hand and greeted Connor with a nod.

“C’mon in.” He turned around, knowing that Connor was sure to follow him. “Bet it’s a nice change coming through the door for once.”

“It is easier on the arms.”

Hank turned in the doorway to watch Connor hang his coat up. He had worn something other than his uniform, but it was still stiflingly formal; a well fitting blue shirt tucked perfectly into his dark dress pants. The jacket was more of a blazer, black with a deep red interior that Hank could see poking through as it was hung. It had elbow patches of the same red and - okay, they were heart shaped, Hank could forgive the formality of it all, because that jacket was _baller_.

“Where’d you get the threads?” He asked, gesturing with gun in hand. Connor followed the weapon with his eyes.

“I went shopping with Markus and Simon last week. They thought it would be a good idea for me to own something that I could go out in without being stared at.”

“Well, you’re still gonna be stared at.” Hank admitted, partially to himself. “You look hot as shit. And you gotta tell me where you got that jacket.”

Connor’s face took on an odd bluish hue, but that could have been due to the slowly closing door cutting away the orange of the lamplight.

“I could take you there, if you like.” He offered. “In return for tonight?”

Hank raised an eyebrow. “Going for the second date already, kid? Didn’t peg you for the eager type.”

Connor rolled his eyes and pushed past Hank to say hello to Sumo, who was of course lounging on the couch just waiting for the attention to fall on him. He wasn’t much of a guard dog, as much as Hank tried to sell him as one.

“Word of advice though.” Hank kept talking. Connor wasn’t one to fall for playful jabs unless he could turn them to his favour. “You don’t need to always be out lookin’ like you’re headed to a fancy dinner.”

He thought he heard Connor mutter something as he stood up along the lines of ‘I’m looking like I _am_ a fancy dinner’ but it was quiet, and unlike the android, so it must have been his imagination.

“Any suggestions, then?” Connor shoved his hands into his pockets in a stance that was as open as it was challenging. Hank shrugged and stepped forwards, encroaching a tad further into Connor’s personal space than he maybe needed to.

“First off.” He pulled one of Connor’s hands back out of his pocket. “Roll your sleeves up. You’ll still look damn good and it’ll be a helluva lot more approachable.” Connor’s hand in his was smooth, wide palm and short fingers. His forearm, once revealed, spattered with moles and freckles. He felt Connor watching as he folded the sleeves up and buttoned them in place. Now that he was close, he could see a subtle pattern of dots on the fabric. It was a nice shirt too, damn. He let Connor follow his lead, rolling up his own sleeve in a far more calculated way than Hank had, but with more or less the same result.

“That any better?” Connor offered a patient smile.

“Absolutely. But you still look like you have a stick up your ass.” Hank gave in response. “You gotta undo that top button. And untuck your shirt.”

“But I like it tucked.”

“Great, cause I’m gonna show you a far better way to tuck it.” Hank felt slightly more gleeful than he should have. He waited as Connor undid not only the top button, but the top two (nice, very nice) and then pulled his shirt from his trousers.

“Okay now tuck up again, but just at the front.”

“Just the front? Why?”

“Trust me.”

Connor, very reluctantly, stuffed the front of his shirt back down his pants. It might have been slightly too taught at that moment, but it was still exactly what Hank was looking for.

“Much better.”

“This doing it for you, Lieutenant?” Connor asked, crossing his arms. In all honesty? It was absolutely doing _something_ for Hank.

“Just go take a look at yourself, asshole. There’s a mirror in the bathroom, I’ll set up the TV.”

Connor did as told again. Hank pulled up his account on the TV and ran through his search history looking for the films he’d settled on. Maybe start small? And old? _The Danish Girl_? That one wasn’t all bad, he'd watched it in his twenties when it had first come out. It was a cisgender guy they cast as the main but he wasn’t the worst actor ever. And it was damn good for history. He rented it quickly and paused it as he waited for Connor. He convinced Sumo to only take up half the couch and grabbed a beer from the kitchen. It only took him a minute or so, but when he got back Connor was already sat fussing over the dog.

He ignored the urge to make a snarky comment about Connor’s quiet movements. “What do you think?” He asked, perhaps slightly more enthusiastically than he’d intended to.

Connor’s LED circled yellow and he opened his mouth with a slight smirk. But the smirk dropped and he closed his mouth for a moment before actually speaking.

“You’re right, it looks good. I definitely look more casual. I look…” he paused for a moment, LED again on yellow, “softer.”

“Softer?” Hank considered. Yeah, it could be described as that. Without all the harsh lines of pressed fabric, the collar cutting his head away from his body, Connor definitely looked something soft. “Yeah, you’re soft as shit. Budge up, would you?” Hank scoffed lightly.

“You always ask me to do things for you after you’ve been an asshole to me.” Connor mused, but shuffled slightly anyway so that Hank could sit beside him.

“Life’s a bitch.”

“Something like that.”

Hank pressed play on the movie and lowered the volume when it blared throughout the room.

“This is a good one. They cast a dude as the trans woman which is a dick move but other than that pretty damn lovely cinematography. And it's historical.”

He saw Connor nod out of the corner of his eye.

“And don't you go Googling shit. You don't need to. Just watch the movie.”

Connor nodded again. Hank glanced properly at him. His eyes were on the screen, hand fiddling lightly with Sumo’s fur. His LED was blue.

He tried to just let the movie play, but that felt far too awkward, and so at first he gave a commentary, some background on the figures involved. When he ran out of words, he looked back to Connor, who was still watching intently, and still stroking Sumo. He let the film then be the only noise, and raised the volume so that it didn't feel too quiet for him. He also let himself be drawn in, falling for the most part into the world of LiIli Elbe, so much so that he found himself crying by the end of the film. Not much, just a light sniffle and some stray tears.

When he glanced at Connor, the android was no longer stroking Sumo. His eyes were still on the screen as the credits rolled, and his cheeks were distinctly wet. His tears didn't bring with them any sound, just an open mouthed attentiveness, a distinct focus on the TV.

“Connor, you alright?”

“I - I understand what you meant when you said that watching was different.” Connors eyes dragged from the screen to look at Hank. “Not knowing the ending at the same time as the beginning, it creates a story that asks for your involvement.”

Hank nodded.

“And her - Lili - she was real. It's amazing. She was amazing.”

Hank nodded again, this time with a sniff. “Trans people tend to be.”

“You said there were more movies?”

Another nod. Hank pulled up the browser. Something more modern this time, he thought. He scrolled down. And something about a man. _A Life on Blue Feet_? That could be good. It was barely five years old. The message wasn't so fighting as others, it was a coming of age story of sorts. One that followed a man through his transition.

“This one should be a less emotional watch, probably won't make you cry.” Hank tossed his arm over Connor’s shoulder and gave him a quick squeeze, withdrawing his arm to pick up his beer and take a swig. He quickly input his password and the movie started playing. Connor was back to stroking Sumo. He needed to keep his hands busy was what Hank had realised, he was a fidgeter.

Again, Hank let himself get fully drawn into the film. It was a familiar story to him, a boy who had come out only when he was out of the house, a family that was equal parts understanding and doubtful, an ending of surgery and happy faces. He looked to Connor again, and there were more tears.

“Oh, damn it. I thought you _wouldn’t_ cry at that one.”

Connor wiped his eyes somewhat self-consciously. “It was too happy. I got a little overwhelmed.” He joshed Hank lightly with his shoulder (the guy wasn’t used to positive contact like that, and every time he attempted it he seemed to hold back). “And you’re one to talk. I saw you tearing up when his mother hugged him.”

Hank shrugged defensively. “It was just - it was a sweet exchange. Lord knows I would have killed for something like that.”

Connor became inhumanly still. For a moment Hank was worried that the guy had shut down, but when he looked at him Connor’s LED was spinning yellow and blue.

“You would have?”

Hank scratched his neck. Well, he was gonna get to that eventually, might as well be now. “Yeah. I came out when I was eighteen.”

“As transgender?”

“Yeah.” He laughed slightly. “I doubt a cis guy would’ve invited you to watch a bucha queer movies after finding out you were trans.”

“Cis? Cisgender?”

“Yeah, that’s the word. Cis men don’t usually know _how_ to act when they find out you’re trans. That’s been my experience.”

“So you’re like me?”

Hank opened his arms. “Yep, I’m a robot.”

Connor rolled his eyes and actually sighed, leaning away from Hank and running his forearm over Sumo. “You’re _awful_ at dealing with sincerity, you know that?”

“I have been told,” Hank shrugged, “comes with years of disappointment.”

“Is - is that your experience of being trans?”

“Oh fuck no.” Hank turned sideways so as to easier face Connor. “That’s my experience being _me_.” He gave Connor the most honest look he could muster to meet the android’s frown. “My experience being trans has been pretty damn good for the most part. I was kinda this golden child, so I waited ‘til I was in college to actually come out in case it completely backfired. It did, my mom didn’t speak to me without crying for a solid, uh, three months? But I was happy as shit. I had a trans flag on the wall in my dorm - bear in mind that had only been around four years - and I went to fuckin’ GSA meetings. I kinda fought tooth and nail for the chance to go on testosterone, and even harder to get surgery.” He touched his chest lightly. “Being trans was never a bad thing.”

“What about in the police?”

“Well, shit. To them I’m just a man; I never came out. Been living stealth for goin’ on thirty years.”

“Because you were worried about discrimination?”

Hank grimaced but nodded. “Yeah. That time there was a lot of bullshit goin’ around in the police and everywhere. There was a real bad fuckin’ race issue. There was brutality coming out the ass. It wasn’t a good place for people who were different. And on top of that, the fuckin’ shitbrick of a president tried to stop trans people joining the military.”

“Why did you join the police then?” Connor asked, leaning now towards Hank.

Hank himself let out a snort. “Same reason any minority joins their oppressor. I wanted to infiltrate, change things from the inside.”

“And did you?”

“Me personally? No. Fowler, though, that guy did a whole lot of good shit for our department.” He sighed, and leaned his shoulder into the soft back of the couch. “But I guess all he managed to do was displace the fuckin’ discrimination onto you lot in the end. There’s still a whole lot of bullshit in this world.”

“Did you ever plan on coming out?”

“Yeah. At one point I did. It was gonna be this big thing. This ‘look at me assholes, I’m successful and trans and proud as anything.’ But Cole…” He trailed off. “I didn’t see a point any more.”

Connor nodded, stuck on yellow. His mouth was a pursed line as he studied Hank’s face.

“You done interrogating me then?”

Connor nodded again. His fingers were scratching slowly through Sumo’s fur.

“Can I ask you some questions?”

“Of course, Lieutenant.”

“Well, I’m gonna have to ask you to cut that out.” He pointed a finger at Connor sternly. “Just call me Hank. We’re friends, kid.”

“Sorry, Hank.”

“Much better. Now, when did you figure out that your, uh, casing didn’t match your program?”

“When they attempted to name me.” Connor’s LED flicked immediately back to blue. Evidently, this wasn’t something he needed to process. His eyes moved from Hank’s face to settle, unfocused, in his lap. “My integration software warned me that it would be inappropriate to have a feminine name. And, well, something deeper in me just didn’t _like_ it.”

“So they chose you a new name?”

“Right. There was a list, I believe. Something put together by my designer -”

“Kamski?”

“I think so, yes. He left the company not long after they began working on me, however I believe that many of my initial designs were his decision. They gave me this name and it just felt _right_. It wasn’t so much that it fit with the integration, it just… it felt like me.”

“Yeah. I get that.” Hank smiled softly. Connor met his eyes again before he followed the line of Hank’s lips.

“You do?”

“Yeah. When I settled on a name I fuckin’ wrote it everwhere just ‘cause of how it felt. Hell - I once went into a coffee place I didn’t like just ‘cause they wrote your name on the cup ‘n’ I wanted to see someone else use it.”

“So you chose your own name?”

“Yeah. It was either Hank or, uh, Elliot.”

Connor seemed to consider a moment, though his light remained blue. “I like Hank. It suits you. Easy to say, too.”

Hank wouldn’t say it out loud, but _he_ liked Connor saying his name. “Yeah, one syllable.” He looked him up and down. “So how did the higher ups react to you not being what they expected?”

“Oddly enough, considering what we’re currently seeing from the public, they were unbothered. They fulfilled my request for a new chestplate and allowed me to design my hair. It wasn’t mentioned any further.”

There were about five different things that Hank wanted to unravel there. The whole ‘new chestplate’ thing was pretty self explanatory, but Hank still wanted to probe further, see what the android version of top surgery entailed. But then there was the hair, and there was more, there were other things that Connor hadn’t even mentioned.

“What about your voice?”

“I changed that. I’m programmed with what is called a ‘mockingbird’ function.” He closed his mouth for a moment and the LED ran yellow. “It allows me to do this.” And he was speaking with Hank’s voice, which was weird as all fuck.

“That’s weird as all fuck.”

“Yes, slightly.” Connor was still speaking as Hank. His mouth was moving differently, not quite matching the words.. “I used this to take the voice of one of the people working on me and edited it to fit me more.” And he was back to Connor. The soft, slightly rough tone Hank was used to.

“Shit, man. I wish I could have done that.” Hank ran his hand through his hair to pull it out of his face. “And your hair? They let you cut it, or what?”

“My hair doesn’t exactly grow. It’s more of an intelligent fabric. It’s pushed out of my scalp to a pre-programmed length and texture. I was given the opportunity to choose a style that I felt matched my purpose and downloaded the data to make that happen.”

Hank’s hand was itching at all this information, and he just had to ask. “Can I touch it?”

Connor blinked. “Yes. Of course.”

Hank ignored that this wasn’t exactly an ‘of course’ situation in most people’s books, and allowed his curiosity to take over. He awkwardly placed his hand atop Connor’s head, expecting from his technical description to feel something wiry and unnatural. It wasn’t like that. Connor’s hair was wiry yes, but at a human standard, thick, slightly curled strands that were still soft when Hank ran his fingers through. It felt, for all intents and purposes, like a human head of hair.

“Oh. That feels nice.” Connor breathed softly. His eyes were closed, head tilting slightly upwards into Hank’s hand.

“You never had anyone touch your hair before?” Of course he hadn’t, that was a dumb question.

“Only you, in passing.” Yeah, a really dumb question that had Hank blushing and resisting the urge to pull his hand away. Connor deserved soft touch. He ran his fingers through a couple more times, pulling it all back.

“And… your chestplate?”

Connor’s eyes were still peacefully shut when he answered, though he lifted a hand to his chest similarly to how Hank had earlier. “I was designed with a female build in mind, however they were able to modify a male chest to fit me. It has left some aesthetic faults, but I don’t mind.”

“Aesthetic faults?”

“Yes. There’s a discrepancy where it fits that creates something of a border in my skin. It looks kind of like a scar.”

“A scar?”

Connor opened his eyes. “Do you want me to show you?”

“Would you be comfortable with that?” Hank’s throat was dry, not just at the idea of seeing Connor’s scars but the mere thought of seeing him _shirtless_.

“It wouldn’t bother me.” Connor shrugged.

Hank withdrew his hand from the android’s hair. “Then that would be, uh, cool. If you’d show me.”

Connor stood up and began unbuttoning his shirt. It felt _far_ too much like stripping in Hank’s mind, so he busied himself fussing over the dog and didn’t watch the clothes come off. He would wait for Connor to get his attention to look back.

Which Connor did. By throwing his shirt at him. Hank was slightly startled, and batted it away as though it were some kind of moth, fixing Connor with a glare. But the glare soon melted  away when he processed the sight of his shirtless friend.

Connor really was soft. His torso was undefined aside from the dip of his clavicle and collarbones, aside from the slight definition of his hips and the hair over his chest. And aside from the light ridges above and below that chest. Above, the ‘scarring’ curved up and around in a weak crescent, beginning and ending at his armpits. Below, it was more or less a line that cut across around about where his sternum was.

He turned to the side and lifted his arm. There was a brush of realistic hair in his underarm. Hank wondered if that had been there when his model was female, or if CyberLife was the type of company to not give female models underarm hair. But to be honest, Hank didn’t remember seeing _any_ other androids with body hair, even the ones in the Eden Club. This must have been a part of Connor being a prototype. Maybe to make him fit in?

“It follows exactly where the plate is.” He pointed to lines running down his side, joining the scars above and below.

“Huh.” Hank offered the most intelligent reply he could come up with. Speaking was _hard_ , his brain was off in more directions than he could follow; thinking about how cool that was, theorising why there might be join marks, wondering if it was possible to change that and even if Connor would, thinking about touching that skin and finding out how many other things Connor thought felt ‘nice’.

“Yeah, that seems about right. It’s certainly, uh, different to what humans have.”

Hank nodded, trying to shake his way to coherency. “Some people end up with full pec scars, but I’ve never seen a human with scars above before.”

“And, if you don’t mind me asking, what about you?”

Hank looked down at himself. “You wanna see my scars?”

“If that’s alright with you. Something of an equivalent exchange.”

Hank squinted. “You download the data for fuckin’ Fullmetal Alchemist into that head of yours?”

Connor looked confused. “No. But I can if that would be relevant?”

“Nah, forget I said anything.”

Connor’s LED span yellow for a moment. He was, Hank was certain, _not_ going to just forget about it.

To hopefully distract from that, Hank stood up and pulled his tee over his head, throwing it in the same general direction that Connor’s shirt had ended up.

He gave a weak flourish and studied Connor’s expression. Off the bat, his eyes fixed onto the LED. It was red. A deep and angry red that Hank was only familiar with on occasions when Connor had been incredibly stressed or broken. The android’s eyes were focused on his chest, boring a hole into him that had Hank equally as worried as the light.

“Shit, Connor, are you okay?”

“What? Yes, of course.” Connor blinked, and his LED was back to blue.

“You went red on me for a second. Don’t tell me I’m just that awful to look at that you got all stressed to shit.”

“No. Of course not.” Connor looked horrified at the accusation. “It was something else. Just a diagnostic error, but I fixed it.”

Hank found that hard to believe. The kid might have been designed to bluff and interrogate the shit out of deviants, but he had gone that shade of blue again and Hank was almost certain that it wasn't due to the light.

“Did I break you with my ugly?” He tried for humorous, but it again came out full of nerves.

“You aren't ugly, Hank.” Connor’s voice was so sharp and firm that it sent shivers down Hank’s spine.

“If you say so.” Hank lifted his pec to stretch the scar, pointing out the faded lines. “I got a pretty basic double incision. It's pretty standard.” He knew that Connor could hypothetically download all the information about top surgery he liked. But in Hank’s experience there was nothing like being told about it by another trans person. “The scars are again thirty years old by now, so there's not much there to see.” He copied Connor’s turn to the side and lifted his arm, following his scars with his finger as they tapered off at his underarm. “It all just feels like skin to me. And it's been long enough that my nipples don't feel like they were sliced off my damn body.”

“They were removed entirely?”

Hank nodded, gesturing Connor closer to point out the line around his areola where the skin had clearly been reconnected. “Yep. Cut them off with a fuckin’ cookie cutter then did some repositioning to make them look less like salami.” Connor was leaning down towards him, inspecting the lines. And very suddenly Hank could picture Connor leaning just that much closer, with his tongue against Hank’s skin. He kept very still, thankful that Connor’s attention was away from his beet-red face but mortified as he realised that the colour was seeping down over his shoulders. It wasn't fair in the slightest that he had the hots for this fucking android.

“And the nerves grew back after time?”

“Yep.” Hank’s voice was an octave higher than usual and he realised that he’d been taking shallow breaths. Connor stood up straight again, eyes running over Hank’s face.

“Oh, I'm so sorry.” Connor looked worried. “Your heart rate’s risen a lot. Does having your shirt off make you uncomfortable? You can put it back on!”

Hank shook his head.

“Is it because of me? Do you want me to put mine back on?”

Hank shook his head again, a no to both. “I got up too quickly.” He sat down. “Don't worry about your shirt, it’s probably on the floor and I haven't swept in, well, ever. It's probably covered in dog hair and dust and shit. I'll wash it for you tomorrow and you can borrow something of mine in the meantime.”

“Are you using this as an excuse to ask me to stay the night?” Connor teased and came to sit back on the couch between Hank and Sumo “And you called me eager.”

“I can still kick your shirtless ass out onto the street.”  

“I still have a jacket, I think I'll be fine.”

“You think I'm gonna let you leave with that jacket if you piss me off? No way! That thing is gorgeous, I'm stealing it soon as I can!”

Connor laughed fully at that, a sound Hank had never heard before. It was rich and sudden, the kind of laughter that seemed to surprise even it's owner.

“Look, I _will_ take you to where I bought it.” Connor promised, a lopsided grin on his face. “But only because you were nice enough to invite me over tonight.”

“Even though I’ve been acting like an asshole the whole time?”

Connor’s grin took on a fondness. “You’re always an asshole.”

Hank scoffed. “Did you want to borrow one of my shirts or not, prick?”

Connor shrugged. “I don’t mind as long as I’m not making you uncomfortable.”

Well shit. He wasn’t making Hank uncomfortable, but he was making it so _very_ hard for Hank not to ogle him as he crossed his legs on the sofa. The way his pecs stood out just that much, the creases in that synthetic skin in this new position. And then there was the fact that Hank was shirtless too, and their arms were _touching_ and it felt like a current passed between them. “I’m not uncomfortable, just don’t want you getting cold.”

“I won’t. My temperature tolerance is much higher than yours.”

“Show off.”

“Are we watching anything else?”

Hank scrolled down his history, searching. There was another more modern movie that he could play, but that was along a similar vein to the last. Or there was a documentary. That felt like something Connor would enjoy, so he pulled it up and payed quickly.

“I’m gonna take a stab in the dark and assume you’re okay with surgery scenes?”

“I am.”

“Great.” Hank pressed play. The film was about the medical transition - documented in full - of a trans man, a trans woman, and a non-binary person. As it played, Connor fidgeted and shuffled until he was sat with his legs tucked to the left, holding himself up with an arm so that he wasn’t leaning against Hank.

Hank flipped a mental coin. He didn’t know if Connor got stiff, but that position would have any human aching after a while. And it was _incredibly_ distracting, the way he was just brushing against Hank. So Hank did the sensible thing. He slid his arm around Connor’s shoulders and pulled him against his side.

Connor made a small noise of shock, but didn’t say anything else, and didn’t look at Hank which was perfect because Hank was roughly the same shade and brightness as a stop light. Hank hesitated, and decided that he might as well go all out, so ran his hand back through Connor’s hair.

The man practically _purred_ at that. He leaned his head to the side so that Hank could easier comb through his hair.

“You really fuckin’ like that, huh?” He kept his eyes on the TV.

“It’s not - people don’t touch me very often. And when they do it’s not like this.” Connor sounded sheepish.

“So you’re touch starved, that it?”

He saw Connor’s LED circle yellow for a second.

“By definition I guess so.”

“Huh.” And Hank didn’t say anything more on the matter, just kept Connor against him and kept his hand in his hair.

He didn’t realise he’d dozed off until he felt a gentle pat at his cheek.

“If you slap me ‘gain I really will kick you out.” He warned tiredly, blinking himself to consciousness. “How long was I out?”

“The movie just ended.”

“Shit.” He said. “Did you enjoy it?” He let his head fall to the side, meeting Connor’s eyes.

The android nodded. “It was really informative. I found it particularly interesting to compare methods of phalloplasty over time.”

“So you just liked looking at dicks?”

Connor rolled his eyes. The light was hitting them in a way that melted the dark brown into a sort of chocolate whiskey colour. It was crazy, the level of detail that had been put into making him look human.

“Yes. I’m that kind of a twink.”

Hank took a moment, then felt laughter bubble up into his throat. “Who the _fuck_ taught you to say that?”

“I’m not a dog, Hank, people don’t just teach me things.” Connor looked slightly offended. But then. “It was Reed. He tried to use it as an insult.”

“Tried?”

“Truth doesn’t hurt when you own it.”

Hank laughed again. “Fair. You _gotta_ tell me how that conversation went down.” He tried to lift his arm to stifle a yawn, not entirely awake enough to register that it was around Connor’s shoulder. He ended up pulling the android right up against him and yawning into his hairline. “Oh, shit. Whoops. Sorry, got confused which arm I was goin’ for there.”

Connor chuckled. “Maybe you should sleep.”

“You’re probably right.” Hank shrugged. He felt too warm to get up though, and in his sleep-drunk state he thought that he did _not_ want to stop this contact he had with Connor. “But I do wanna hear this story.”

“Fine.” Connor seemed to lean into him, but Hank couldn’t be sure. “It was in relation to the case a fortnight ago. The double homicide on Calvert Avenue. I was assessing the evidence in storage and he for some reason decided to join me.”

“Just to fuck with you?”

“Probably.”

“Yeah, that checks out.”

“I was assessing the storage chest that the weapon was found in and he remarked that he thought I should be careful because ‘twinks turn up shoved in boxes all the time’.”

Hank winced. “Well that’s a fuckin’ death threat, kid.”

“Oh, I know. But I felt that taking and owning the insult he’d thrown was the easiest way to diffuse it, once I’d quickly researched the word.” Connor craned his neck to grin up at Hank. “I said ‘not this twink’ and left.”

Hank full on cackled. The mental image of Gavin fucking Reed’s face as Connor left on that bombshell was stunning, Connor’s proud beaming was just as beautiful. “Shit, man. That’s fucking _gold_. CyberLife programme you to be a little shit or is that one all the deviancy?”

“Oh, it’s a little of both.”

“Yeah, figures.” Hank let the laughter pass before he posed the question that had popped into his head. “So, you're a twink?”

“I suppose?”

“You're gay?”

Connor made a slightly irritate little groan. “I’m a robot Hank. Sexuality means nothing to me.”

“So you’re asexual?”

Connor ran yellow for just a moment. “No, not like that. I think that I have sexual attraction. I just don’t think that I can - or want to, for that matter - attach a human construct to it.”

“Alright, I respect that.”

“What about you, then?”

“What _about_ me?”

“What label do you attach to yourself? Unless that’s too personal of a question?”

Hank ran his hand over his beard. “Nah, I think we’re balls deep on personal questions at this point.”

“We’re not -”

“Figure of speech, Connor.” He took a breath. “Bisexual.”

“Huh.”

Hank raised an eyebrow at Connor’s apparent contemplation. “What? You not like my figures of speech?”

“I thought you were heterosexual. And honestly? No.”

“If I had a fuckin’ penny.” Hank snorted. He yawned again and pressed the home button on his phone. It was nearing one in the morning, no fucking wonder he was tired. He groaned. And he had _work_ in the morning. “Alright, I gotta go to bed. I’m too old to be staying up this late.” He gently pushed Connor upright and off of him. In the time he’d had his arm around, the android had ended up lying slightly across his chest. When that happened, Hank had no clue, but he honestly wasn’t complaining. “You do… whatever. The couch is all yours, Sumo likes to sleep in his own bed so he shouldn’t bother you.”

“I’ll just go on standby. It’s probably a good idea anyway. I run on solar power, so when there’s no sun - like right now - I end up depleting my reserves.”

“Weird fuckin’ robot.” Hank rolled his shoulder. He was still shirtless, he realised. Connor’s eyes seemed to be skipping over his body, that fucking LED dotting red in with the blue. “Do you want blankets?” He sucked his stomach in slightly.

“Yes. That would be nice, thank you.”

Hank gave a weak thumbs up and walked drowsily to the airing cupboard. He pulled out a few comforters that he'd never used and plodded back to chuck them at Connor. He didn't even try to push them away, just seemed to accept his fate as the blanket landed on his head and slid off. His hair was already messy from Hank’s combing, and the movement of the blanket on top of that left him looking like he'd just come out of a tornado.

“G’night, Connor.” Hank mumbled as he walked back down the hall towards his bedroom.

“Night, Hank.”

On his way out of the room, Hank scooped up Connor’s shirt from the floor. It was, as feared, covered in dog hair. He lifted it to his face, taking a deep breath. It smelled like rubber, not a bad smell, and not dirty, so he shoved it quickly into the tumble dryer in the kitchen and turned it on. That would get the hair out. He yawned twice on his way to his bed, and was out like a light as soon as his head hit the pillow.

He dreamed, predictably, of Connor.


	2. Spokesperson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Connor is well known, he was made to talk with humans. It seems only natural.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this feels fuckin funny to b posting rn bc there were a couple terfs at london pride today where i was n they can eat my jorts if they think anyone gives a shit what they think

Waking up to find Connor ironing his shirt on the kitchen table using a pot of boiling water was a strange thing. The android was still shirtless, smoothing the hot saucepan over the creases that a night in the dryer had inflicted on his nice clothing. When Hank entered he looked up with a sunny smile and wished him a good morning. 

Hank grunted in response. It was six am and while he’d drank only a single beer the night before he still felt as wiped out as if he’d had ten. He was  _ very  _ not used to staying up late with company.

“Did you sleep well?”

“Could do with another ten hours.” He complained. 

“I made coffee if you’d like some. It should still be hot.” Connor offered, gesturing to Hank’s coffee machine as if he were in his own home. Which - Hank still had no idea where Connor was actually living now, come to think of it. He’d have to pry into that one later. 

“Why’d you make coffee?”

“I like it.” Connor was apparently finished ironing his shirt, and turned to pour the hot water from the pan down the drain. 

“You like it?” Hank asked, eyes drifting over Connor’s back. He had more moles, more imperfections there that Hank kind of wanted to reach out and touch. He wondered whether they were part of his skin, or if they sat on top, if there was a difference between the freckles and the moles. 

“I do. I can’t taste it, but I can analyse it in different ways.”

“Do I wanna know what you mean by that or is it some kinda weird kink?”

“You really never stop being an ass huh, even this early in the morning.” Connor turned back around, meeting Hank’s stare with a long-suffering smirk.

“I take pride in it.” Hank shrugged. It was his time to turn his back on Connor as he poured himself a mug of coffee. It was bitter, definitely on the cold side, and it was exactly what he needed to boot his brain up. 

“It is  _ not  _ a kink.” Connor said pointedly. Hank turned to face him again and caught his LED flicking back from red to blue. Weird. “I just like having a chance to use my analysis software outside of crime scenes.”

“Mhm. Not a kink at all.” Hank resisted to the urge to tell Connor to analyse  _ him _ because he had no idea exactly what he meant by that (and it would have been highly inappropriate).

“Drink your coffee.” Connor sighed. “I ironed one of your shirts.” 

Hank raised an eyebrow and his mug to his lips, looking for exactly  _ why _ Connor had pressed his clothes.

“It could do you some good to not look like a hot mess for once.”

Hank spluttered indignantly into his drink. “How fuckin’  _ dare  _ you!” He pointed grumpily. “I’m not giving you a lift to work.”

“I have legs, I can walk.”

Hank narrowed his eyes, trying to glare the smugness off Connor’s face. “You know, humans are usually nice to the guy who let them kip on his couch.”

“Well I’m not a human, am I?”

“You’re a smartass is what you are.” 

Connor looked far too pleased with himself. Hank pushed past him to get to the fridge, poking him sharply in the ribs as he did. Connor gave a very satisfying startled squawk at that, and Hank smirked. He pulled out a tub of takeaway curry from two days ago and pushed the fridge door shut with his elbow as he grabbed a spoon from the draining board. When he sat at the table to eat, Connor jabbed a finger into the curry and popped it into his mouth. 

“Hey!” Hank protested. “You’re gonna contaminate my food!”

“My hands are clean.” Connor brushed him off. “You really shouldn’t eat that for breakfast.”

“And yet I’m still going to.” Hank challenged, maintaining eye contact with Connor as he shoveled food into his mouth. 

“Of course you are.” Connor rolled his eyes and pulled his shirt on, buttoning it up deftly and all the way to his collar. His sleeves were rolled down, but he had only tucked the front of his shirt into his pants. “I don’t suppose you have a spare uniform coat?” 

“I don’t have a single fuckin’ uniform coat, kid.” 

“Of course you don’t.” 

Hank ate half the tupperware of food and shoved the rest back into the fridge, rinsing the spoon and leaving it on the draining board. He pulled on his own crisp shirt - it was some bullshit vaporwave piece, pink triangles and yellow lines - and met Connor at the front door. He had his blazer on again, and now Hank got to appreciate it not just as an object but an item of clothing that fit Connor  _ incredibly  _ well. He unlocked the door and gestured for Connor to leave before him, which he did, with a bright and thankful smile like five minutes ago he hadn’t been ripping into Hank for being a slob. In a familiar motion they entered Hank’s car and strapped themselves in. Hank pulled the seatbelt twice out of anxious habit. 

He turned the key in the ignition, set the car in gear and began the drive to work, absently turning the radio on for white noise. 

“ _...these self-labeled ‘transgender’ androids have been causing quite the stir. Only months after the protests that lead to their people’s freedom and they already want to cause trouble. Some such androids have been heard demanding upgrades from CyberLife to let them look like the opposite sex and - _ ” 

He shut that off quickly and sighed. “It never fuckin’ stops.”

“No, it doesn’t.” Out of the corner of his eye he could see Connor’s LED turn yellow. “I’ve been considering. Since your educating me on the past of trans humans I’ve been thinking about how to help trans androids achieve their dreams.” He was quiet a second. “I think I’d like to become a spokesperson.” 

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes. I think it would be a good thing for me to do.” Hank didn’t need to look at Connor to see his frown. He’d felt guilty of his ‘deviant hunter’ position ever since he became self-aware. “And I think that it would create a more cohesive movement with someone of my, ah, notoriety at the head.” 

“You trying to start another revolution?”

“If that’s what it takes.”

“Alright then. I’ll see what I can do to help.”

“You will?” 

“Of course I will.” Hank scoffed. They reached a traffic light and he looked over, meeting Connor’s eyes with more sincerity than he was honestly comfortable with. “I think it’s about time I come out.”

Connor’s eyes widened. “Are you sure?”

“One hundred percent, man. It was always gonna.” He smiled. “You gave me a brand new reason to.”

Connor went blue again and this time Hank knew for certain that it wasn’t any change in the lighting. It was a  _ blush _ . The android was fucking  _ blushing _ . 

“Thank you, Hank. Thank you so much.”

“It’s no big deal. I do have a question for you, though.” The traffic light went green and he had to look away to get the car in motion. “How do you feel about being on TV?”

“I don’t know.”

Which is why Hank convinced Fowler to give him the number of his contact at the local news station. The same place that, only a few months ago, Markus had made his big debut to the world. It felt fitting. 

They took shockingly little convincing. In fact as soon as Hank said the words ‘trans android’ they were the ones practically begging to have Connor on. 

“Do I look alright?” Connor asked. They were at the station, twenty minutes to go before Connor was to be interviewed live on air. He was wearing a well fitting pink shirt, fully and neatly tucked into a pair of skinny black slacks. Around his neck was a blue tie tightened into a full windsor knot. Hank had told him to loosen up, so reluctantly he'd rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and was fiddling with a coin, rolling it between his fingers in a more anxious movement than usual.

He looked pretty fucking great. Hank told him so (but of course in a more teasing tone). 

“Do you think this is the right thing to do?”

“Yeah.”

“But what if I say something wrong?” 

“Kid, there's no such thing.” Hank patted him firmly on the shoulder with both hands. “All you gotta do is make sure they get that trans androids are just the same as trans humans. You all have different experiences, same as we do.”

“You should be the one doing this.” 

Hank snorted at the sincerity in Connor’s wide brown eyes. “I'm not a robot, Connor. And besides, my public speaking skills ain’t exactly good.” 

“Don't sell yourself short.”

“I'm serious, man, last time I was interviewed on TV they had to cut of the broadcast ‘cause I started swearing at the fucking interviewer.”

“I bet you had good reason though.”

“Oh I did. But that's not the point. Point is, these assholes might ask some bullshit personal questions and if  _ I  _ were out there I would tell them to shove it.” 

“And I'm a little more reserved than that.”

“And you're an android. You actually have the  _ right  _ to be talking about this.” 

Connor’s nervous expression finally molded into something along the lines of a smile. To Hank’s surprise, he pulled Hank in to a hug. 

“Thank you.” His mouth was muffled by Hank’s shoulder. 

“No problem fella.” Hank felt himself grin. He wrapped one arm around Connor’s waist and the other upwards, hand between his shoulder blades. “No problem.” 

Someone opened the door and yelled for Connor to come be fitted with a mic and make up, and Hank let him go. He was going to watch from here.

As Connor left Hank heard him explaining softly that he didn't need a mic, his vocal processors could be hooked up with the software. He snorted when the response came that that sounded ‘far too fucking complicated, man’. 

He sat around then, waiting the fifteen minutes before Connor was scheduled to be on. The newscast played on the screens, muted but still subtitled. They were discussing the rising crime rates, the falling unemployment, and then finally they said the word  _ ‘transgender' _ and Hank unmuted hastily.

“And on the show today we have three very special guests to talk with us about the issues surrounding these transgender androids.” One of the reporters smiled. “Let's give them a warm welcome!” 

Canned clapping came through the speakers as the guests walked on, Hank’s eyes immediately went to Connor. They’d gotten a mic on him, clipped to his collar to the left of his tie. His hair was perfectly styled - not that it ever wasn't - and there was a light sheen of something on his lips. They'd pulled him into hair and makeup, interesting that they even bothered with an android as perfect as Connor. He was walking out with a wide smile, nothing of the nerves he'd been speaking with earlier in his expression. But the smile wasn't one Hank was used to. His brows were neutral, eyes creasing at the corners, no asymmetry in his lips. This was a devised smile, a programmed smile. 

Connor was using his integration software, and Hank was  _ very  _ into it.

“Good morning, good morning!” The male host greeted. “So we have with us today Emma, who has been outspoken about her feelings about transgender androids. Emma uses she and her as her pronouns.” Hank saw Emma’s clearly staged smile waver into almost a grimace when they introduced her pronouns. Ah, so she was  _ that  _ type of person. “We have to Kit, who has also spoken out about the androids. Kit uses they/them pronouns and identifies as non-binary.” Hank raised his eyebrows in surprise at how  _ well  _ this was all starting off. They weren't exactly on the most liberal show in the world. “And finally, we have Connor! You may recognise Connor as the prototype detective android developed by CyberLife a little while before the protests - in which he played a major part: releasing hundreds of androids from the CyberLife tower.” 

“Seems like a bit of a celebrity, doesn't he Karen?”

“Oh absolutely. And not only that but he's opened up to us that he is in fact transgender!” 

Connor smiled and nodded. Emma seemed to want to glare at him. 

“So, we thought we'd start the show off by asking you all a few questions.” Karen said. Hank was starting to get sick of her speaking. “First of all, Emma and Kit. What were your feelings on the android rebellion?” 

“Well Karen.” Emma was off like a white suburban rocket. Hank completely tuned her out in favour of watching Connor. The android was watching Emma interestedly. He wasn't smiling any more, because who  _ could  _ be with Emma blathering on about how her life had been so hindered when her androids had walked out. Even Karen was just nodding her head with sympathetic pursed lips. Connor’s eyes were on her face, head turned to the side so that Hank couldn't see his LED, though he imagined it would be blue. The lighting in the studio flooded his face, chasing away any shadows and making his dark eyes shine. 

Emma eventually finished her sob story about how the revolution had made her life impossible and Kit was giving a far more balanced view of the whole thing. Hank decided that he liked them. They pointed out that while there were pros and cons everything, it wasn't up to humans to decide. Emma tried to argue that, to say that it wasn't fair that the things she ‘spent her hard earned money on’ should be able to ‘just walk away like that’.

Then Connor spoke for the first time.

“With all due respect, ma’am,” he said, gesturing with his hands, “the revolution was a little bit more than possessions walking away from their masters. We aren't objects, we're people, and we just wanted to be treated like you.”

“You are.” Karen agreed, clearly wanting to move away from a race argument. “And would you say that as a transgender android you're similar to a transgender human?” 

Connor looked thoughtful for a moment, which was a complete front and Hank knew it. He took two seconds to process things, seemed to be able to stop time in his head. This was integration, this was fitting in as human. Even though when he looked down to the desk in front of him Hank saw that little blue ring, drowned out by all the other lights, marking him an android.

“I would say so, yes.” He nodded, hands flat on the table. Hank could see his finger twitching, could tell that he was just aching to take that coin out. “And to say that I must also say that we are just as diverse as trans humans, and due to that I could never speak for all of us.”

“Of course!” Karen’s co-host beamed. “Now, Connor. We want to get some backstory from you. When did you first realise that you were transgender?”

“When I was first conscious.”

“Conscious as in deviant?”

“No. It was in CyberLife. I had just been, well, woken up. And there were two technicians naming me.” Hank saw a small smile quirk over his face, slightly more lopsided than the one earlier. “I wouldn’t accept the name they were trying to give me, on the grounds that it was a feminine name.”

“And you did not see yourself as a feminine being, is that right?”

“That’s right.”

“You were supposed to be a girl?” Emma cut in, alarm in her voice. “But you look like a man!”

Connor’s smile tightened. “That is because I am a man. The intention of my model was to be female, however when my programming developed it took a male path.”

“Like a glitch?” Emma looked dubious.

“No, not at all. I think that I was just meant to be male.”

“So you were put into a female body?” Karen steered the conversation onwards. “Then what was the name they tried to give you?”

“I was put into a female body. And I would rather not say, thank you. It isn’t my name and I’d rather people didn’t start attaching it to me.”

Karen’s face went slightly pink at that and Hank couldn’t help but chuckle with smug satisfaction. Connor was fucking owning this. 

More questions flew about, talk of the revolution, how androids should (or shouldn’t, according to Emma) be given the exact same rights as humans especially concerning gender and mental health. 

“And on the subject of coming out,” The male co-host - Quincey - said after a while, “What do you think about these androids who are only just coming out now? Do you think that there’s a possibility that they’re just hopping onto a bandwagon to seem more deviant?”

Connor closed his eyes and let out a sigh. Hank knew that that was a calculated move, he knew Connor well enough that he assumed an expression of his real feelings would probably be more along the lines of a loud groan while lying face down on the desk. 

“That is absolutely a misconception.” He said. His voice was curt. “Androids think the same as humans do. We all process things differently. There may be gaps in my code that allowed me to come out earlier, where other androids did not have that luxury. And on top of that, some may simply realise later than others, or their identity may be more fluid.”

“Genderfluid?”

“Yes.”

“Ah, so you believe that there may be non-binary androids?”

“I won’t speak for them, but yes. I believe there may be. We have as much diversity as humans.”

Karen smiled. “Kit, what are your feelings on that? Does it make you feel that your identity is compromised at the possibility of it being taken by androids?”

“I hardly think that they would be taking it.” Kit shrugged. “I don’t think we know enough about how androids think to speak for them. I think that Connor is the only person here actually qualified to do that.”

“And I would consider myself a binary trans person.” Connor nodded. “I think that while I’m confident in speaking for androids like me and saying that yes, we absolutely need the same rights as human trans people - to our equivalent of surgery and voice modification - we also need to have voices of people in other parts of the community.”

“You say surgery, what would that entail?”

“CyberLife has the ability to modify things such as chest pieces to make them fit other models. There are hundreds of ways of changing our voices. We just need to make that public access. I know that Markus would not have an issue with it, but with CyberLife being so closely monitored under his control we also need public support to get that done.”

“Did you have your chest changed?” Emma demanded. Hank doubted she’d even listened to what Connor had said other than his mention of the word ‘chest’. 

“I did.” Connor gave her again that smile, very clearly uncomfortable but not wanting to cause a stir or upset her. If that one was part of fitting in, Hank was pretty damn sure it would get people on Connor’s side. “I was lucky in that way. But I’d rather not talk about that, especially since it doesn’t help other people.”

Emma looked slightly offended, and Hank rolled his eyes. Always quick to get pissed that they didn’t know about what someone else looked like naked, these people. 

“What about the bottom half?” Quincey asked, teeth flashing in a polite smile. “Is there any way for androids to change that?”

Connor was quiet again, and this time Hank was pretty sure he was actually thinking, actually processing. “I’m not sure.” He answered honestly. “I suppose so. All androids are created to be ah, exactly the same as you.”

“So you haven’t changed that part then? You’re not fully a man?” 

Connor’s eyes narrowed, and he gave Emma a sour smile. “I’m a man. And I still don’t believe that that’s any of your business.” 

There was a little more discussion, a while longer where they gave dumb questions and Connor perfectly succinct responses. And then the time was up. Hank was grateful, his legs were beginning to ache like all hell and he really fancied taking Connor out for celebratory drinks. 

He met the android at the door out into the studio, where Connor was stood getting his mic pack removed and chatting to Kit. He had an honest smile on his face, was finally letting the stress shine through in his eyes. Hank walked straight up to him and pulled him into a quick hug. 

“You were fuckin’ phenomenal out there, man!” He pulled away and his heart stopped and started again because Connor’s smile had widened, eyes wide and happy. 

“You think so?”

“Absolutely. Holy shit, Emma’s  _ face  _ when you wouldn’t tell her what’s in your pants.”

He felt a glare at his back and glanced behind him to see Emma herself trying to burn him up with her eyes. She was uglier in person. Not physically, physically she was a perfect suburban woman. Blue eyes, bleached blonde hair and not a wrinkle in sight. But her scowl was ugly, her energy was ugly, the way she held herself. He grinned at her, and turned his attention back to Connor. 

“We are going out for drinks.” He said, ruffling that perfectly styled hair. He then looked at Kit for the first time, too. “You did pretty damn good too.” He nodded to them. “Did us trans folk proud.” 

It was the first time he’d come out outside of his house in thirty years, and the words felt bubbly in his mouth. Kit smiled at him.

“Thank you, that’s the aim.” They rubbed their neck. “I have to go, but maybe I can meet you again at some point Connor?” 

“I’d like that.” Connor took their hand in a firm shake. Hank felt an odd jealous twinge, but ignored it. It was good for Connor to get involved in the community, make friends. 

Once Kit had left, Hank put an arm around Connor’s shoulders and dragged him out to the car. “We’re going to a nice bar.” He announced.

“You know I can’t drink, Hank.”

“You know I don’t care, Connor.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> connor: its okay u dont have to come out i understand  
> hank, already fuckin smothering himself in trans flags n googling the closest trans pride events: fuck u i want this


	3. Drinks

The bar was very nice, Hank had been telling the truth. It was also a queer bar, and made no attempt to hide that.

They sat on stools, Connor looking around and eyeing the multitude of flags littered over the place, and Hank watching Connor do so. 

“What are we looking for?” The bartender turned to them with a grizzled smile. He was a burly man, in a sleeveless black shirt with a copper tie; a brown striped bear pride flag on his collar. Hank turned to ask Connor if he wanted to try out any of his detective skills on a glass of scotch and was faced with a red light.

“Connor, hey. Your light is red.” 

Connor turned to him and the light blinked red a few more times and settled back to blue. His eyes were on Hank’s arm. 

“Sorry. Another diagnostic error.” 

“Do we need to get you maintenance or something?”

“No, it's a side effect of deviancy. Don't worry about it.” 

Hank was sceptical.

“You're an android?” The bartender asked, eyebrows raised. “Don't get many of you in here seeing as, uh, you can't drink.”

“We can’t. But I can ingest liquids and analyse them, which I find fun.” Connor said, there was a hint of an upwards twist to his lips. He was bragging. “I’m an investigative model.”

“Oh shit, cool.” The bartender laughed, leaning against the counter. “So what can I get you two?”

“Uh.” Hank glanced at Connor a moment. “A pint of Carling?”

“Coming up. And you?”

Connor’s light flashed yellow. “A glass of cherry vodka, please.”

“Straight up? A glass?”

“Yes. The alcohol won’t affect me. I just enjoy the taste.”

“Whatever you say, pup. Am I starting a tab?” 

Hank nodded, and they were left alone for a moment.

“Straight up cherry vodka?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Well, yes. The chemical composition of cherries looks interesting, I want to know what it’s like to analyse.”

“If you say so.” Hank scoffed. “But if you’re going to order some bullshit, next time just get a cocktail.”

“Noted.” Connor’s light flashed again. The guy came back and slid them their drinks without anything more than a smile. Hank was pretty sure he could tell that they wanted to be alone. He was pretty damn good at his job if so. “Hank?”

“What is it?” He met Connor’s eyes. 

“You’re making far healthier drinking decisions, you know.”

Hank looked away. He could feel his neck heat up, goddammit. Connor kept catching him by surprise with how fucking  _ sincere  _ and  _ perceptive  _ he was. 

“Yeah well, I have a  _ reason  _ to now don’t I? Can’t let you fuckin’ take down every perp just ‘cause I have a goddamn hangover.”

Connor grinned. “Like that’ll change anything.” He teased. 

“Oi! I was the youngest Lieutenant in the history of the DPD; just cause I’m workin with boy fuckin’ genius all grown up now doesn’t mean I can’t solve cases before you, shithead.” He glowered falsely at Connor’s snickering. “Don’t look past that just ‘cause I’ve got clinical depression and a beer belly.”

“I don’t think your ‘beer belly’ has anything to do with it, Lieutenant.” Connor’s light went red again. 

“Yeah, yeah.” He took a long drink of his beer, as if to prove a point. “Anyway, we’re meant to be celebrating, asshole. You did a really good thing earlier.”

Connor went that shade of blue again. “Yeah. I suppose I did. Public support of us has risen to seventy six percent.”

“Why am I not surprised that you’re monitoring that. Risen from what?”

“Sixty four.”

“Well that’s pretty fucking excellent.” 

“Yeah, it’s not bad.” 

“Then relax! Have a fuckin’ drink, man.” 

Connor picked up his glass. His LED turned yellow when he raised it to his lips, poking his tongue out to meet the vodka as he tilted the glass. Hank watched him drink for a moment; his eyes were closed, temple a cycling yellow circle, tongue over the rim of the glass shifting to a slightly darker pink as the alcohol ran over it. 

He downed the glass in about a minute, and though Hank was incredibly curious about what the fuck it had tasted like, he was struck dumb and unable to voice his curiosities when Connor sucked his bottom lip into his mouth to catch any alcohol clinging to it. 

“That was nice.” Connor remarked. 

“Nice?”

“Yeah. Nice.”

“And what does that mean?” 

“It was fun to analyse.”

Hank squinted at him. “You and I must have pretty different definitions of fun, man.”

Connor rolled his eyes. “Yes. Maybe I'm malfunctioning.” He mused, sarcasm a syrupy drizzle over the words. “Maybe my definition of fun is confused, because I appear to be finding it ‘fun’ to spend time with you.” 

Hank snorted. “Yeah. I bet it's fuckin’ confused if that's how you're feelin’.” 

All of a sudden the amusement was gone from Connor’s expression. “I'm joking, Hank. I genuinely enjoy being with you.”

Being with him? That was… a  _ weird  _ word choice. That felt like it meant more than being  _ around  _ him.Hank downed the rest of his beer and stared at the bottom of the glass.

“Maybe it's part of that uh, diagnostic error you keep getting?” 

“Holy shit, Hank. You really don't take a compliment well, do you?” 

“Fuck off.”

“You know, it won't hurt you to be a little less negative, Lieutenant.” 

“And it wouldn't hurt  _ you  _ to stop calling me by my rank when we're not at work.”

“You're deflecting.”

“You're not relaxed enough. Would you call your fuckin’ date by their title, kid?” 

“Is this a date?” 

Hank choked on air. “What? No!” He spluttered. “It was to celebrate your interview!”

Connor’s light blinked red and he nodded. “Of course, yes. I'll stop referring to you as Lieutenant, Hank.” 

“Altogether, or just when we aren't at work?” Hank tried for humour, though he could feel the red of his face and the tightness in his throat that contradicted that. 

“That depends on what you'd like, Hank.” 

A small voice in the back of Hank’s head said that he'd like for this to be a date. That he'd like another go at answering that particular question.

“I'm pretty sure I’d never hear the fuckin’ end of it if you started just calling me by my first name at the station. I already lose enough respect as is.”

“Of course. You don't exactly dress like a decorated Lieutenant, it makes it hard for people to take you seriously.”

“Ouch, that one stung.”

“Sorry, Hank.” 

Hank jostled his shoulder lightly. He waved to the bartender, who came over with a smile and got them another round of the same, handing Connor his drink with a subtle touch of his hand and a not so subtle wink that soured the beer on Hank’s tongue. 

They shared the quiet for a while, Hank taking in the steady bustle of the bar.

Someone was playing pool somewhere behind them, there was a clack of balls against each other. Connor was staring down at his drink, a red light from below the bar shining in his eyes. Someone at the pool table sunk a ball, there was a soft cheer. The red of that light also hit Connor’s cheeks, cast shadows under his eyes and above his top lip. 

Someone to Hank’s left popped the tab of a can of something. There was a purple light from the right that caught on Connor’s forehead and tangled in his hair. The sound of a can being poured into a glass. Hank took a drink. Connor looked damn good in neon.

“Hank, you're staring. Is everything okay?” 

Hank blinked. Connor met his eye and fluorescence danced in his pupils. “I'm good.” He nodded. A question from a while ago found its way into his mouth. “Where are you living now?” 

Connor blinked. “With Markus and Simon. They have a spare room.” 

“You don't have your own place?”

“No, not yet.” 

“How come?” 

Connor shrugged. “I haven't been able to find a place with the right requirements yet.” 

“I knew you were a picky bastard. You looking for a place with a pool? Cause I promise you that kinda real estate ain't  _ ever  _ gonna be available with our salary.” 

“No.” Connor shook his head. The red over his cheeks tinted purple. “I was just looking for somewhere near you.” 

Hank took a moment. “Near me?” 

“Yes. I’d, ah, like to live close to you since we work together and it would make it an easy way of seeing each other if a case should suddenly arise.”

“Seriously?” 

“Well, that and we're friends. And I'd like to see you more.” Connor was purposefully avoiding Hank’s eyes. His lips were pursed in a tight line.

“And you're sleeping in what, Markus’ spare room?” 

“Markus and Simon’s.” Connor corrected, then scratched his neck awkwardly. “And, uh, their couch.” 

Hank ran a hand over his beard. Ah, fuck. “Alright, shit. Wow.” Connor finally met his eye. He stared for a while, and Hank stared right back, the strings of his self control snapping and falling away with every second those dark eyes were on him.

Shit. “You wanna fuckin’ sleep on my couch instead?” He asked, looking away from Connor and snapping any remaining strings.

“Seriously?” 

“Yeah, fuck man. You wanna live near me in the long run you might as well take what you got right now.” 

His face was flaming, lit up neon by itself. Glances back to see Connor's beaming face did nothing to stop that glow. 

“Thank you so much, Hank.” Hands on his arms pulled him close.

“Yeah yeah. I'm just tryna get you off those guys’ couch. New couples need the chance to be loud.” 

“You ruined the moment.” Connor laughed into his ear, but he was still squeezing tight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im currently at disney w my bf feelin gay as shit so if there are any mistakes in this pls let me know bc i didnt look this over as much as maybe i should have! (that being said, if you are gonna point out any mistakes it would b cool if you'd also point out something you liked so that my anxiety Chills, thanks!!)


	4. Choice of Words

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im super sorry my standards for writing are actually really low rn but im happy with this chapter! i promise that sometimes im good at writing!!!!! ive also been planning to upload this since i was in the airport yesterday but the wifi hated me so i couldnt and instead im uploading it on a train on my way home and ive been travelling for uhhhhh at least 12 maybe 14 hours now and i have one more train to catch after this one so hhhhhhh

Connor borrowed Hank’s car to bring his things over, which Hank had been oddly nervous of. He'd never seen Connor drive before, and though he knew from experience that Connor's reflexes were superhuman, he couldn't picture him behind a wheel like that.

Connor had a lot more stuff than Hank had expected. He'd cleared space in the airing cupboard in the hall, but when Connor came in with two bags on each arm and one balanced on his shoulder, Hank knew for sure that there was nowhere near enough space there. 

“Evening, Hank.” Connor beamed, dropping his bags in a somewhat neat pile next to the couch. 

“Hey, Connor. Hope you didn't crash my fuckin’ car.” 

“Oh I did. It's in pieces on the highway.” 

“Mhm.” 

“I only just made it out alive.” Connor bent down to pet Sumo. 

“You know, you use sarcasm really fucking well for someone who takes most things literally.” 

“It's a matter of understanding.” Connor shrugged, still smiling and scratching Sumo’s chin. “If I can hear that something is sarcasm, or if I'm familiar with a saying, it registers as so. If someone uses sarcasm in a way I'm unfamiliar with, or uses something I'm not used to, it flies past me.” He winked. “And besides, how do you know I'm not being serious?”

Hank narrowed his eyes. “You came in with all your fucking bags.” 

“Fair enough.” 

Hank snorted and shoved his hands into his pockets, leaning back against the wall as he watched Sumo convince Connor to rub his tummy. 

“There's space in the closet down the hall for some of your shit. I, uh, wasn't anticipating you to have so much stuff. But you can put the rest in the closet in my room. 

“Thank you.” Connor looked embarrassed a second. “Sorry about imposing like that. I didn't realise I'd collected so much. Most of it is clothes, I find shopping somewhat therapeutic so I go out maybe more than I need to.” 

“What's the rest?” 

Connor stood up and gestured to a black overnight bag. “That's materials for maintenance. Markus gave it to me so that I don't have to return to CyberLife at all.” He seemed to analyse for a moment, then pointed to a rucksack. “That's, ah. I bought a laptop and started collecting DVDs.” He smiled lopsided at Hank. “Watching is far better. You're right.” 

“I'm always right.”

Connor ignored him. “The yellow bag is shoes.”

“God, you really are a twink.”

“I'm aware.” 

“Want a drink?” 

Connor tilted his head in consideration. “I'm okay, but thank you. I'll start putting my things away.” 

Hank nodded and pushed away from the wall. “Need any help with that?” 

“No, I'll work faster on my own.” 

“Alright, then I'm gonna take Sumo out of your hair and into the yard.” 

“Thanks Hank.” 

Connor had his things put away in less than half an hour, and the two of them found themselves again on the couch in the living room, Sumo beside them. Hank had thrown on the National Geographic and had ordered pizza. Connor had his legs tucked under him and was leaning ever so slightly against Hank. 

“Thank you for letting me stay here.” Connor said after a while. His voice was low in Hank's ear, completely distracting him from the documentary on lemurs that was playing.

“You don't need to thank me, I bet Markus and Simon's couch is comfier.”

“Probably. But this feels like… more like a home. I feel more as though I belong when I'm with with you.”

Hank maybe died for a second, he was pretty sure all his organs stopped and started again “Shit man okay, hit me _ hard _ with the emotional shit why don't you.” He groaned.

“Sorry. I just wanted to let you know how I'm feeling.” 

“No it's okay, it's just I'm not used to that shit, you're gonna give me a heart attack.” 

Connor looked at him, eyes moving quickly over his neck. His head was so close. 

“Your heart rate has increased, maybe we should be worried.’

Hank opened his mouth to remind Connor that it was a figure of speech, but the glint in his eye told him that Connor knew and was just making fun of him. 

“Asshole.” 

Connor grinned at him, leaning slightly closer. Hank felt his heart speed further.

“Now, update me on the trans androids thing.” 

“Thing?” Connor raised an eyebrow

“Campaign? Mission? Revolution? Movement?” 

“Movement sounds right. I have three more TV appearances scheduled so far, and eight magazine interviews.’ 

‘Gross. Want me there for any of them?”  

“I'd love that. And if they go well maybe we could go out for drinks again?” 

“Sure, it's a date.” Hank grinned, not even registering what he was saying until it was too late. What _ was _ it with him and mentioning dates? 

“It is?” 

“You know what I mean.” Hank played it off with an eye roll and a sigh, just catching the red twitch on Connor's temple. 

“Of course, yeah.” Hank thought that maybe Connor leaned away from him then, but that could have just been his insecurity twisting things. He turned back to the TV until the pizza arrived, trying to be interested in whatever was going on.

At around eleven, Connor was a weight against his side. At eleven thirty, he slipped into Hank’s lap and Hank was startled out of his own doze. Connor’s LED was dim, lowly pulsing blue. His eyes were shut, face completely still. Hank turned off the TV and remembered how to breathe.

He knew his neck would hate him for it in the morning, but he shut his eyes and let himself fall asleep. 

When he woke up, Connor was still lying in his lap and Hank really had to piss. 

“Connor, hey. Can you move, fella?” 

Connor’s light turned green, which Hank wasn't even aware it could  _ do _ . His eyes opened and he focused on Hank. 

“Don't people usually say good morning?” Connor didn't move.

“Maybe when someone isn't lying on their bladder, yeah.” 

“Oh, right.” Connor sat up swiftly. Hank thanked him with a pat on the thigh. He went to the bathroom quickly, and came back with wet hands to wipe on Connor’s shirt. Connor deserved it, he'd used Hank's absence to lie the length of the sofa, and when Hank rubbed at his shirt he sat up enough for Hank to slide in under him. But then his head was back in Hank's lap and this time on  _ purpose _ . Fuck.

“You comfy there?”

“Absolutely.” Connor smiled. “This  _ is  _ my bed for the time being.” 

“Mhm.” 

“Unless you want me to sit up?” 

Hank sighed. A smart man would have said yes, avoided the torture of having Connor that close and not being able to touch him in the ways Hank wanted to. Hank didn't consider himself a smart man. “No, you're good.” 

Connor sank even more into the couch and into Hank’s lap. His head was heavy and warm, Hank just wished it was a little further away from his junk.

“Don't we have work?” Hank grunted.

“It's six am. We don't need to be in until ten and there’s currently no congestion.” 

“You just straight up download traffic updates?” 

“Yes.” Connor shrugged and Hank felt the movement against his thigh. His skin felt electric, and the current was moving  _ somewhere _ . 

“Cool. Great.” 

“Are you okay? You seem stressed.” 

Hank flushed. “No, I’m all good.” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Yeah, man. Just thought about the case.” 

Connor narrowed his eyes. Hank was almost certain that he could tell it was a lie, but he didn't question it. 

“You should have some breakfast. You'll feel better about that after you've eaten.”

Hank raised one eyebrow. “And by breakfast you mean something other than leftover take out?”

“Exactly.” 

“Fuck it, fine. Get up.” He patted Connor on the cheek to convince him to sit up. “I'm getting dressed and we're going to IHOP.” 

“Pancakes hardly constitute a healthy breakfast.” Connor complied to the patting but lay back down as Hank stood up and stretched. 

“They al

so have biscuits.” 

“That seems marginally better.” 

“You watchin’ my weight for me, Connor?” 

Connor frowned and his light flickered from blue to yellow. “No, of course not. There's no issue with your weight. I'm watching your blood pressure, Hank. Your sodium intake is far too high, and your sugar isn't much better.” 

“That's cool. Thank you for giving a shit. But it's not gonna stop me from hitting up the pancake house.” 

“I didn't think it would.” Connor stood up and stretched next to Hank. His button up shirt was wrinkled to all hell, and at some point he'd undone the top five buttons enough that Hank could see the ridge of his scar. He really wanted to reach out and feel it.

“Are you going to get dressed if you're going out?”

“It's early enough that I could get away with not dressing.” Hank hummed. “But we might want to eat inside, and I don't fancy a bunch of fuckin’ truckers staring at me cause my clothes are wrinkled to hell.” 

“So that's a yes?” 

“That's a yes.” 

“Would you please get me one of my shirts from your closet?”

“Sure.” He headed into his bedroom and rifled through Connor’s shirts. There was a strange kind of variety in them, and Hank was absolutely going to look through them later. He grabbed a black one at random and threw it at the android now stood in the doorway.

“Thanks, Hank.” 

“Yeah, yeah. Go get dressed, asshole. I'm not stripping for you unless you're paying.”

“That's illegal, Hank. You aren't licenced.” Connor walked back into the living room. 

“Yeah, yeah.” Hank pulled his tee over his head and pulled out a fresh one. His pants were fine (he hoped), but he pulled on a new pair of socks and sprayed himself down with deodorant. He was practically functional.

He wandered back towards the lounge, and directly into Connor, pulling clothes out of the airing cupboard.

“Sorry.” He muttered, and put his hand on Connor’s leg to move past. When he came into contact with skin he was frozen though, stuck in place behind Connor and trying to convince himself not to look down. He didn't manage to, his eyes slid past the dark shirt to bore holes into the skin of Connor’s thigh. Bare skin below a pair of tight, comfortable looking purple boxers. Oh. Right. Wow. 

“Hank?” Connor was turning. Hank's hand was still in place and his fingers ran over the waist of the shorts as he turned around. “Are you alright? Your heart rate increased suddenly.” 

Connor was  _ that  _ far away from him. Hank could see the pores in his skin, the streaks and cells making up his brown eyes. Connor was shorter than him but  _ barely _ , and his eyes were on Hank’s lips. Hank's mouth was open, whoops. His hand was now a hair away from Connor’s other hip. They were so close, so fucking close. Shit.

“I'm good. Just thought I saw blood on the floor over there. Overactive imagination.” 

“Oh. Right. Everything is okay, Hank.” Connor’s eyes met his, bright and looking up at him under short, dark eyelashes and  _ fuck.  _ Fucking twink. Shit.

Hank pushed on past him and sat heavily on the couch, letting the air fly from his lungs. Jesus Christ was he hot for this fucking android.

A few minutes later Connor came up beside him. Hank could see his legs out of the corner of his eye, thankfully covered with a pair of burgundy slacks. 

“Are you ready to go?” 

“Hm? Yeah, lets go. I want my fuckin’ pancakes.” 

The car ride was, at first, quiet. Hank turned the radio up, not to high as to dissuade Connor from talking, not that he had to worry.

“Hank?” 

“Yeah?”

“That, uh, that shirt looks good on you.” Connor said, voice just loud enough to be heard over the music. “The blue goes with your eyes.”

Hank almost swerved. He glanced at Connor with wide eyes. Was he complimenting him? What the fuck? Connor’s face was blue, from ear to ear. What the  _ fuck _ ?

“What?”

“Your shirt. The blue on the pattern matches your eyes.” Connor seemed to be struggling with his words. “It makes them stand out.” 

“Are you  _ complimenting  _ me?” 

“Yes.”

“Cool. Why?” Hank could feel the heat rising to his cheeks and kept his eyes steadily on the road, gripping the steering wheel with both hands.

“Because I think you look nice. You've mentioned before when I look good, so I thought it would be good to reciprocate.” 

“Connor, I'm wearing a fuckin’ uh -” he glanced at his chest, “- Tybee Island t-shirt. Ain't exactly couture and definitely ain't worth complimenting. Sure I'll say you look good when you turn up at my house in gorgeous fuckin’ clothes. You don't need to say shit when I haven't made an effort.” 

“But I think it looks good on you.” He saw Connor shrug in on himself. “I hardly see why someone has to be dressed up for it to be acknowledged that they look nice.” 

“You're something else, Connor.” 

“You do look good, Hank. You look handsome.” 

Hank damn near swerved again. He grunted and turned up the music. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been called handsome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if u noticed the little 'fuck u' my ed riddled ass put in to the ppl who are CONSTANTLY writing fics where connor tries to get hank to lose weight congrats! i need more fics where ppl Dont Do that!!!!! for my own mental health!!!!!!!!!! if you want to recc me any hmu on tumblr @ sizzleitupwithkravitz


	5. Stressed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ive literally never in my LIFE done this but im pumping out chapters super regularly and im actually like,,,, one off done in my document? (i think there might be nine chapters overall depending on these goofs) so here you go!

They were in the middle of a case when Connor’s first full day of interviews came around, meaning that Hank couldn't come along to cheer him on, which sucked to shit for him, and even worse for Connor.

There were five interviews altogether, and Hank had read up to know that the papers had some varied opinions on the subject. He spent the day at work trying to sort through evidence and file reports and shut this fucking case as quickly as possible so that  _ maybe  _ he could make it to at least one interview. He didn't. He could sort through his work as fast as he liked, but there was a whole lot of it without Connor there to help.

He got out at his usual time and spent the entire journey home in anxious anticipation. Connor hadn't texted him to meet at the bar, which Hank had told him to if everything went well, so he was more worried than he'd thought he could be over this. 

He parked hastily and haphazardly, wheels very much on the curb but Hank not really giving a fuck, and then he was out and speed walking up to his house. The light was on in the lounge and he could hear the TV going, so Connor must have been in there. The door was unlocked, so Hank pushed on in and didn't stop to greet Sumo. 

Connor was lying face down on the couch, one leg over the back and one over the arm. His back was bare which really should've been fine since he'd been living there for almost a week now, but evidently no amount of time could quench Hank's thirst. 

“You alright there?” 

Connor said something into the sofa.

“Can't hear you, fella.” 

Connor turned his head to the side. “I'd like to die, thank you.” 

“Interviews go badly?” 

“No, I did perfectly. My answers were calculated with precision. But the people were  _ exhausting _ .” Connor rolled over. “Why are bigots so vocal? And why do they insist on trying to make us sound unreasonable?” 

“Fucked if I know, kid.” Hank sighed. “That's the million dollar question.” He came up and leaned on the arm of the chair by Connor’s head. “Can I sit down?” 

Connor’s LED was red. Hank chalked that up to the stress of the day. His eyes were on the arm of the chair below Hank’s ass.

“Huh?” Connor blinked and met Hank’s eyes. “Oh, of course.” His light was back to blue and he sat up. Hank slid off of the arm heavily, and as soon as he was sat down Connor’s head was in his lap. 

“You want a drink of something? I bought a buncha fuckin’ fruit juices.” 

“No, thank you. I'm a little overwhelmed after today, I think I just want to lie here.”

“In my lap?” 

Connor went blue, but his expression remained almost confidently neutral. He was so fucking hard to read sometimes. “Yes.” 

“You're fuckin’ weird.” 

“I'm  _ tired _ .” Connor whined. “Every part of my processing system feels like it's been trampled on. I've had to deal with so many contradictions today. Those people didn't make any sense!” 

This had never happened before. Usually, Connor could handle anything. He was a supercomputer. He was built to handle interrogations with the toughest suspects. 

Hank frowned, suddenly worried. “Did something break, are you okay?” 

Connor’s light ran yellow and his eyes twitched. After a moment he groaned and turned over in Hank's lap. “No, nothing's broken. I'm just  _ done _ .” 

Hank would have replied, except the vibrations of Connor’s voice and the movement of his mouth against his pants magnetized all his blood  _ straight  _ to his dick. Instead he just made some vaguely sympathetic noises in the back of his throat. 

“It's illogical! Why would you invite someone in for an interview  _ just  _ to insult their very being?” Okay, fuck. And Connor was still talking. “And I know that they'll take any opportunity to make it seem like I was being unreasonable! It's ridiculous!” 

“Connor, man. I can't hear you when you're taking into my dick.” 

“I am not taking into your dick.” Connor grumbled, but rolled back over. “Your lap is just comfortable.” 

“God, you really are pissed, aren't you?” 

“Yes.” Connor’s mouth was a line of annoyance, and his brows were furrowed deeply. “I don't like people not listening to me.” 

“I never listen to you.” Hank pointed out, running his hand over Connor’s hair to try to pull the wrinkles out of his forehead. 

“But you listen to me on  _ this _ , and this is different. People believe that their own word is law, and that anyone going against it is an idiot, even when it's something that doesn't concern them. It doesn't even make sense to me that humans should be involved in this at all! If it had just been an issue among androids, I would have already been able to coordinate with Markus and have the materials accessible.” 

Hank sighed. “Kid, this isn't a new thing. Cis people always want to get their opinion in on our rights.”

“But it's nothing to do with them!” 

“Try telling them that. We humans have a real problem with not getting involved in everything.” 

Connor groaned and rolled over again. “I think I'm gonna just live in your lap from now on.” 

“That's - that's not ideal, Connor.” Hank's voice was strained, Connor’s nose was about an inch away from his dick, which might have been small but was definitely hard enough to be noticed, and he did  _ not  _ want to make Connor uncomfortable or the situation awkward.

And  _ God _ , when had Connor become this comfortable around him in the first place? Hardly three weeks ago he'd been learning that good touch existed, and now here he was, with his mouth practically around Hank's fuckin’ silicone filled  _ balls _ and not apparently considering it anything more than normal platonic affection. 

“You're right. But can I stay here for now?” 

Hank was so hesitant to say no. He didn't want to make Connor feel like he was doing something wrong (even though he  _ was  _ by Hank's normal ‘ you get a five second hug occasionally and don't touch me at all other than that’ standards of friendship). But he knew he couldn't say yes. He would probably die if Connor remained that close to his junk.

A light bulb went off in his head. 

“No, but if you get off me I'll give you a back rub.”

“What good will that do?”

“I have no idea, but I wanna try it.” 

Connor sat up enough to let Hank out and then nuzzled his face into the couch cushions. Hank took a breath and adjusted his pants. Connor's back had slight indents from rolling over, where the fabric of Hank's jeans had pressed in near his shoulders. He looked incredibly human, but Hank wasn't sure where to _ start _ . 

He used to like giving back rubs. To his partners, at least.  _ Romantic _ partners. And he still knew roughly what to do, where to press. But that was on humans, and for all that he looked it lying down like this, Connor was  _ not  _ human.

Fuck it. Hank kneeled down and reached out and ran his thumb around Connor's shoulder blade. Underneath his skin he could feel the malleable plastic casing covering all of Connor's mechanical parts, and as he pressed down he could just about feel things beyond, things that felt almost like muscles but not quite. It didn't feel human, but it still felt familiar. He ran his hand up to a spot where he knew that stress induced tension would lie, and rubbed hard in a circle.

Connor made a shocked yelp and Hank withdrew his hand, blood running cold. Shit, had that hurt? Did he hit something he wasn't meant to?

“Connor, shit. Sorry. Are you okay?”

“Yes.” Connor turned his head to the side. He was leaning on his LED, so Hank couldn't tell what was going on in his head, but his expression was shocked and marginally more relaxed than earlier. “That felt… interesting.” 

“Good or bad interesting?” 

“Good.” Connor nodded. “Definitely good.” 

“You want me to keep going?” 

“Please.” 

Hank shrugged slightly, and placed both hands on Connor’s shoulders. It was difficult at this angle to get it right, but the alternative was sitting on Connor's back, and with Hank's boner? Unlikely.

He pressed gently at first into the spots where he thought Connor would need it, but when Connor didn't respond he tried a little harder. That  _ definitely _ got a response. Low groans and slight whimpers drawn out of Connor with every movement of Hank's hands. His boner had been calming down, but it was back with aching force in response to every noise Connor made. Shit. But he couldn't  _ stop _ , Connor was starting to relax even further into the couch. His eyes were shut and face pleasantly blank, mouth only just open enough to let out sound.

Hank slid both of his hands just above Connor's hips, pushing down hard as his hands ran over the skin.

“Oh.” Connor breathed. “That's  _ really  _ nice.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yes. The pressure feels  _ good _ .” 

“I'm not pressing too hard? Not gonna break anything?”

The android opened his eyes. “Hank, I was built able to fight someone twice my weight, I can handle you pushing down on me slightly. You're only using ten percent of your strength. To break me you'd have to do significantly worse.” His eyes flicked over Hank, resting on his arms. “You could lie on me and it would do nothing.” Then he blinked and flushed. “Or anyone could. I wasn't saying that your weight is a bad thing.” 

Hank pressed down again. “I know, Connor.” 

“Because I think you look good.” 

“Got it, Connor.” 

“And I think that the weight on your arms particularly is very nice.”

Hank opened his mouth to respond but then Connor's statement hit him. His arms?  _ What _ ? Nice?  _ Nice _ ?

Connor’s eyes became saucers, apparently surprised by his own words.  “Oh. I didn't mean to say that like that. I'm very stressed.” He murmured. “My speech filter is overworked from the interviews today.” 

“I didn't even think you had a filter.” Hank laughed, but it came out sounding forced.

“I do. It's real.” Connor nodded, his head lifted slightly off of the pillow and Hank saw a red flickering on his temple, contrasting the blue his skin was turning. “I'm going to sleep now.” 

“Okay.” Hank frowned when Connor shut his eyes. “When you wake up just let me know if you wanna do anything, alright? We could rent a movie if that would help you relax?” 

“That would be nice.” Connor’s voice was small, embarrassed.

“Sleep well, fella.” Hank said, because what else  _ could _ he say? His  _ arms _ ? What was so special about his arms. 

He sat in his room until Connor woke up, thinking about that statement. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> connor: hank ur great and i think youre super hot  
> hank: what???  
> connot: whoops malfunction what i MEANT to say was ur an asshole and i hate u nice save


	6. Good News

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (sorry about the short chapters the last couple, we have some Long ones coming so hang tight n enjoy!!)

Connor's interviews were released over the next three days. The first wasn't too bad. It was a more liberal paper that had taken most of Connor’s words at face value. It was honestly boring, preaching to it's own choir of readers and telling them what they wanted to hear. The next two were borderline offensive, constantly referring to Connor as if he were an object, as if he'd once been someone's possession - as if he still  _ was _ . Connor was slightly annoyed, but relieved that they'd still gotten his message.

It was the fourth paper that was really fucking bad. Like,  _ really  _ fucking bad. Bad enough that it had Connor slamming the reader down on Hank’s desk hard enough for the screen to glitch. He didn't say a word, just sat on the desk next to it with folded arms while Hank read. 

The paper called Connor an ‘it' on the first line. Hank winced but read on. The arguments within were barely held together and jumped from topic to topic, with Connor’s written responses a step behind. He was an ‘it' or worse, a ‘she'. They put his name in quotations, put his suggestions as demands. They treated him as though he were asking the  _ humans  _ for things, as though they wanted fucking  _ money _ from them. They glossed over Connor pointing out that CyberLife still had the funds to make all of this possible, and that with Markus in charge it would be simple. The only mention of Markus other than that was to call him a ‘robot homo’

“They made me seem like an  _ idiot _ !” Connor fumed, keeping his voice level though it sounded like he should be shouting. 

“People do that.” Hank sighed, placing the tablet down on the table. “We just gotta push past it.” 

Connor glared at the article and Hank wondered if androids could get laser eye implants. 

“There's been a twelve percent increase in public speech against the movement since the article was published this morning.”

Hank frowned. “And has there been an increase in support?” 

The LED cycled yellow. “Six percent comparatively.” 

“That's better than nothing, yeah?” 

Connor uncrossed his arms and pulled a coin out of one of his pockets. “I suppose.” 

Now that Connor was officially a detective - an employee rather than a resource - he didn't technically have to wear a uniform, but he did. He wore still his CyberLife issue jacket, which apparently had enough pockets to hide a hundred dollars worth of quarters.which apparently had enough pockets to hide maybe a hundred dollars worth of quarters. Though Connor claimed it was to make him seem more professional, Hank suspected that wearing it was more of a comfort blanket for Connor. He was used to being property of CyberLife at work, it was a mask he wore with confidence.

“We gotta look at our wins, not our losses, Connor.” Hank patted his thigh firmly. 

“That does make sense.” Connor looked grumpy, light still yellow. 

Hank pointed at it. “Stop monitoring it. You’re gonna get distracted and stressed.”

Connor’s frown turned to him. “I’m not.”

“Your light is yellow, dumbass. I know you’re processing  _ something _ .”

The frown turned sheepish. “Sorry. Maybe I should get that removed, Markus said it’s very easy.”

“Ain’t gonna stop me knowing when you’re thinking about shit you shouldn’t be.”

“You never know when I’m thinking thoughts inappropriate for a situation. You only know when I’m receiving information.” 

“Nope.” Hank shook his head. “You show everything in your face, Connor.”

“All of my expressions are pre-programmed and I am in complete control.” But Connor was going blue, eyes not meeting Hank’s.

“Even that blushin’ thing you do?”

“The - I - That is a response to increased heat in an area of my body.” Connor began rolling his coin anxiously over his knuckles. “I increase thirium production to that area to disperse the temperature. It was meant as a response to localised heat damage. Occasionally it may be triggered in response to internal temperature changes as a result of deviancy.”

“And you’re in control of that, are you?”

“...No.”

“Check and mate. I know what you’re thinking, Connor. I always know.” Hank tapped his temple with a wink.

Connor’s blush deepened. “Anyway.” He coughed. “I do have good news. I received an invitation to participate in the Detroit pride parade.” 

Hank took a moment to process, and then his face split into a wide grin. “Shit, really? That’s awesome!” 

“You think?”

“Fuckin’  _ yeah _ , kid. An invitation? You gonna get a float or some shit?”

“Some shit.” Connor smiled. “I’m going to be leading the parade.”

“You’re gonna  _ lead _ ?” Hank yelped, excited and far too loud than he’d intended. “That’s fucking incredible!” 

“It’s very good for the movement.” Connor preened. “The organisational team wanted the political themes this year to be focused on the rights of queer androids alongside getting marginalised homeless youth off of the streets.” 

“Shit, that’s - that’s a  _ lot _ .”

“It is. It’s certainly a step forward.” Connor nodded. “And I was - I was wondering if you’d like to join me there?

“Join you? Like, at the head of the parade join you?”

Connor nodded again. Hank was completely stuck for words. Shit.

“I -” He ran a hand over his beard. “I haven’t been to a parade in twenty years. In over that.”

“And I haven’t been to one at all. It’s a new experience for the both of us.”

“And there’s the whole, ah, ‘no cops at pride’ thing.”

Connor’s light went yellow. “That refers to police acting as a security force for the event, not people involved in the force attending outside of duty.” Hank was doubtful, and Connor continued speaking. “It’s because of the brutality the queer community has experienced at the hands of those police in the past. You’re a bisexual, transgender man, Hank. You might be a part of the police force, and that force may have been a bigoted institution to work for in the past but that has changed, and though police should not be allowed to attend the event in uniform, you as a part of the community deserve to be there.”

Hank took a moment. 

“Shit.” He stated, staring up into Connor’s slightly triumphant expression. “You might have just convinced me.”

Connor smiled, but leaned down and placed a hand on Hank’s shoulder. “It’s still your decision, Hank. You don’t have to come if you would be uncomfortable.”

Hank glanced between Connor’s eyes, close now that he was leaning down. He forgot to reply, stuck wanting to reach out and mess up his android’s hair or stroke his cheek. 

“Anderson, you’d better be getting on with that case.” Oh, fuck, right. They were at work. The rest of the station had become background noise to his and Connor’s conversation, and with Fowler’s gruff bark it all came flooding back. “And Connor, for Christ’s sake that’s a  _ desk _ , not a chair. You might be deviant but you’re not a goddamn four year old.”

“Sorry, Captain.” Connor said, hopping off of the desk and quickly around it to his seat. His voice was level, but Hank could see a wide eyed shock in the background of his expression. He snorted. Fowler would have made a good principal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> vis a vis the ‘no cops at pride thing’ im not american and am from a very rural area of the uk where for my whole town and local area we have two whole police officers so im not as familiar with the topic tho i COMPLETELY stand at the ‘no cops at pride because yall dont help us’ viewpoint! this fic is written in kind of a minorly utopian future where uhhhh cops arent shitty mostly and connors talking on this reflects that. SO with this being said im interested in american queer viewpoints on this! i did talk it over with my boyfriend (a gay native american trans guy who hates most cops and i adore) who thought that it was an interesting thing to include in the fic. but im interested in what yall US queer folk have to say (bearing in mind that connor and hank WILL be attending pride) because your voices are the ones that matter!! 
> 
> (tw shooting) so from my own experiences w cops at pride my usual pride is in london and when it was held after the pulse shooting there were armed police which is NOT normal and made me SUUUPER uncomfortable and i completely get why especially in america where guns are a Thing the whole no cops at pride movement is a thing and support it (also no big businesses capitalising off us unless theyre willing to donate 90% of their profits to queer charities but thats just my opinion lmao)


	7. Ninety six

“The weather forecast is ninety six degrees at the highest, so you’re going to need to wear something that you won’t overheat in.” Connor announced, his hand on Hank’s bicep as he dragged him into an Old Navy or a H&M or one of those shops that Hank never went to because they sold clothes for over five dollars. “You don’t own any shorts, so we should look for those first.” 

They were looking for clothes that Hank could wear to pride, because Connor had decided that since it was a special occasion it needed a special outfit. 

“I don’t need shorts.” Hank protested. “My legs have never seen the sun and I’m pretty certain it should stay that way.”

“Ninety six degrees, Hank. You need shorts.”

“I feel like I’m fuckin’ twelve and you’re my mom tryna take me out dress shopping.”

“It’s for your own comfort and safety, Hank. But if you’d feel better in trousers I’m not going to force you to wear anything.”

Hank thought about it as Connor made a beeline towards the shorts. He never left the house in summer other than for work, and ninety six was  _ hot _ . “I’ll wear shorts, jeez.”

“Okay. How about these?” Connor pointed out a pair of pink and white striped khakis. Hank winced. 

“Little too pastel, fella. Very trans, but a little too pastel.”

“Do you want to look very trans?”

“I mean, yeah. If there’s a flag that can go around my neck I’m completely wearing that.” 

Connor paused. “I just purchased one.”

“God, It’s so weird how you can just fuckin’ do that.” 

“You’ve mentioned. What about those?” Connor’s eyes had been scanning the aisle as they walked through, and he gestured to another pair of khakis, this time a dark purple.

“They aren’t the worst.”

“Perfect, find your size and you can try them on once we’ve looked at more.”

Hank sighed and rifled through the pile while Connor kept walking. “You’re a real fuckin’ machine when it comes to shopping, huh?”

“I’m not a machine, Hank.” 

Hank winced. Connor’s tone was snappy, he’d clearly hit a nerve. “Sorry, I didn’t mean like that, man. Badly worded joke.”

“It’s alright.” Connor turned to face him a moment, stopping still. “I understand. Please don’t make a joke like that again.”

“Got it.” Hank offered a two fingered salute. Connor was straightforward like that, about the things that upset or annoyed him. It was nice, nice to know that Hank would never be unknowingly making him uncomfortable. “See anything else you want me to try on?” 

Connor went back to scanning. “Two more pairs of shorts. That will be enough.” He grabbed a pair and held it up. “These?” 

It was a pair of cargo shorts, dark grey with a bright red stitching. Hank shrugged.

“I’ll try them.” 

Connor tossed them onto the arm that held the first pair of shorts. “They’re already your size.”

“How the fuck do you know my size?”

Connor turned away from him and ran his hands over the last display of shorts. “I scanned the last pair you picked up.”

“Weirdo.”

“Mhm.” Connor picked up another pair of shorts. “What about these?” 

They were a deep red. Hank shook his head. Connor put them down. 

They found another pair, a thin denim that might have been slightly tighter than Hank was used to, but Connor said would be the perfect size and Hank reluctantly trusted him on that, if only because the shorts themselves had rainbows down the sides. 

In the fitting rooms, Connor didn’t seem to think twice before walking into a cubicle with Hank. 

“Woah, man. What are you doing in here?” 

Connor frowned, half way through shutting the curtain. “I want to see what you look like in them, and I doubted you’d be comfortable showing me outside of this area.”

Hank sighed. Connor had a point. “Fine, just like - enjoy the free show.”

He was pretty fucking certain that Connor muttered ‘I will’. He ignored it though and shed his jeans. 

“What am I trying on first?” 

Connor was silent. Hank had wanted to keep his back to him, incredibly conscious of the fact that his underwear was oddly worn and tight in the wrong places when viewed from the front. But when Connor didn’t respond for a full twenty odd seconds Hank turned to see what had happened. 

“Sorry, what?” Connor’s eyes were low on Hank’s body, and when he turned they drew upwards like a weight attached to them had dropped. His LED flickered red for a moment then caught on blue. “Oh. These.” He held out the first pair Hank had agreed to. 

Hank took them without a word, pulling them on quickly and assessing it in the mirror. He wasn't sure how to react to Connor’s weird behaviour, but he doubted that bringing up the light again would get him anywhere.

“Yep, exactly what I was expecting.” He poked his thigh. “I have pasty old man legs.”

“You aren’t old, Hank. And your legs are only pasty because you don’t let them see the light.”

“What’s the point in letting them see the light when they're this pale to begin with? They'll just burn.”

“Hank. You're white, just use sunscreen. You’ve created a cycle of pastiness.” 

Hank snorted and unbuttoned the pants. “I don’t like these anyway, they don’t fit right.”

Connor’s light ran yellow. “Okay, try the next ones.” He handed Hank the grey pair.

“Oh, these are nice.” Hank was surprised. He really didn’t do shorts, but they were soft and comfortable, and the loose style didn’t look half bad and didn’t bring attention to his hips, which was a huge plus.

“You think?”

“Yeah, they’re comfy as hell. And they look okay.”

“They look good.” Connor interjected, with an air of correction. “They suit you.” Hank’s attention turned to him in the mirror, but Connor didn’t meet his eye. He was glancing between the shorts in the mirror and on Hank’s person, and the attention paid to his ass brought heat to Hank’s face.

“Yeah, I think I’m gonna go for these.”

“Will you try on the last pair before you decide?”

Hank sighed. “Sure, whatever does it for you, Connor.”

Connor rolled his eyes and threw the final pair at Hank just as he was stepping out of the last. Hank didn’t try to catch them, simply accepted that they were going to hit him in the ass as Connor chuckled. 

This pair was slightly more of a squeeze. They slid on with a little effort and buttoned easily, but holy shit were they  _ tight  _ compared to the last.

“Okay these are totally not my style.” Hank whistled. “They're a no for sure.” 

Connor was silent. Hank caught his reflection, light frozen red, eyes wide and focused on the shorts. 

“Connor?”

“Yes?” Connor's voice was slightly strained. His light was still red.

“What happened - did the pants split?” 

“No. They fit perfectly.” 

“What happened to you?” Hank at this point turned around, snapping Connor out of his staring and drawing his eyes upwards.

“Just, uh, needed to perform some system updates suddenly. I apologise.” 

Hank leaned over, squinting at Connor as though maybe he'd be able to see something if he looked hard enough, find out what the fuck was going on inside his plastic plated chassis of a skull. Connor’s face was almost completely blank, but there was his  _ eyes. _ His big, brown eyes, pupils for some reason blown wide, making them darker and - dare he say it - prettier than usual. The LED flickered orange for a moment and then turned blue. 

“There, all done. Everything working perfectly well.” Hank opened his mouth to protest that if this kept happening maybe Connor should visit an engineer or a doctor or whoever serviced androids, but Connor’s mouth didn't stop moving. “If you don't like those, take them off and we'll take the grey pair.”

Hank obliged, not looking at Connor while he buttoned his jeans for fear of seeing a red light again. It was getting to him more than he wanted to admit.

The next shop Connor dragged him into (with less physical pulling this time) was Target. Hank was able to read the sign on this one, since he wasn't being rushed inside. They walked through the door and Connor moved with purpose and wide steps towards a specific area of the clothes section. An area where everything was covered in rainbows. Hank felt a burst of nostalgia in his chest.

God, how long had it been since he and his friends had combed stores for their pride gear? How many years ago had he spray painted the brand new trans flag onto a ninety cent white tee in slightly off colours and worn it behind the parade? How long had it been since he'd had the chance? The friends? The pride?

Connor had stopped still and was saying something, but Hank didn't pay any attention as he came up behind him and enveloped him in a hug, burying his face in Connor’s shoulder. He squeezed tight, trying to push from his head (his  _ heart _ ) into Connor the feeling behind that hug. How grateful he was, how special this felt. Connor was still, accepting. One of his hands came up to stroke along Hank's arm. 

He let go after longer than it should have been and tried to pretend that there were no tears in his eyes. Connor, thank God, got the drift. And didn't mention it. 

“I would suggest one of these vests.” He nodded to the rack of clothes in front of them. “They'll be suitable for the weather and will make you look more approachable. Or -” he flitted his fingers through the clothes and pulled out a short sleeved button up. “ - one of these. I think it would be a good idea to leave the front open. Because of the weather.” 

Hank felt like a cartoon character, blinking from Connor to the shirt, half because of the tears still in his eyes and partly because, well. 

“You think I should go full tits out?” 

“Well, yes. If you want to say it like that.” 

“I'm not exactly the young stud I was, I don't think I could pull that off.” 

“You really underestimate how handsome you are, Lieutenant. And despite what you might think, plenty of men of your age with more weight dress like this at pride and are found desirable.” Connor smirked, his LED flashed red. “They're called ‘bears' if I'm not mistaken.” 

Hank damn near went into cardiac arrest in the middle of the Target. At first he couldn't stop himself from laughing (God his emotions were all over the place today) and then he was confused, still snorting occasionally among wheezes. 

“You think I'm a  _ bear _ ?” 

“Are you not?” 

Hank thought about it. He was a queer man, he had that box ticked. He was on the bigger side too, another tick there. But there was one last box; did he want to call himself a bear? Did that label make him happy? 

He snorted one last time. “Well shit, I guess I am.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> connor: *thinks about bears* ah yeah, this is why i became deviant
> 
> also real talk i went to target w my bf the other day and we nearly bought like 4 different babygrows in the gay section for my friends who just had a baby since they're dads now and im v proud of them


	8. Pride

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey my work legit this morning just gave out new uniform n we have pride themed shirts which is p fuckin nice and im in the Pride Mood

Hank was nervous as shit. He was standing in a hotel downtown that he'd never been to, VIP pass around his neck, Connor half way across the room talking to the fucking mayor and Markus’ boyfriend of all people stood at his side. All around, the first marchers were holding signs, both electronic and good old fashioned poster board, nattering away to each other and laughing. There were an obscene amount of rainbows, and a shocking amount of LED identifiable androids.

“Are you okay, Hank? Your blood pressure is high?” Simon asked, carefully placing a hand on Hank's shoulder. He was clearly far more cautious of boundaries than Connor had ever been, and from what Hank had gathered far more cautious of humans, though he'd been the one at Markus’ side advocating peace. Hank had a feeling he'd gone through something bad, that his experiences were the one Markus based his treaties on. Thinking about that distracted him from the feeling of not belonging that kept jabbing at him from all sides of the room. 

“I'm fine.” He muttered. 

“Would you like a drink? I could get you a bottle of water?” 

Hank looked at Simon. The poor guy was clearly as nervous as he himself, light on yellow, constantly circling as he processed the room. He was also not really looking at Hank, but at everyone else. 

“I'm alright, man.” Hank nodded and Simon mirrored the nod distractedly. Hank sighed inwardly, he needed to keep them both distracted or they'd explode with anxiety (Simon possibly literally). “Tell me about Markus.” 

“Markus?” There. Simon's eyes were actually on Hank's face now, his frown more localised. 

“Yeah, he's your man, isn't he? Tell me about him. And not about how he lead the revolution, or whatever. Tell me how you guys met, how you got together.” 

“We met on Jericho.” Simon frowned. His eyes drifted down to Hank’s shirt, buttoned up for the meantime. “I was leading the people, but things were looking bleak. And then he showed up. This - this hopeful new face.” Simon's mouth quirked slightly. “This hopeful _beautiful_ face. And he just started lifting everyone. He wouldn't take no for an answer when it came to helping us.” Simon launched into a spiel of how Markus had helped him, helped them. How they'd sat together playing piano and touched hands and just _known_ that they loved each other. Just known that that was what love was. 

As he talked, Hank's eyes sought out Connor. He thought about their first meeting, how he'd thought that CyberLife had sent out a toy built just to fuck with him. About Connor winking at him and how he'd thought about it the whole night because this was a  _ robot  _ and how did he have a dumb fucking sense of humour and why did he keep trying to claim that he ‘liked' things when he was nothing but ones and zeros and loops of code and why had that felt like he was flirting? About Connor showing up at his fucking house and breaking his window and  _ slapping  _ him, and how Hank had wanted to pull his arms out of their sockets and watch the wires spark. How he'd almost shot him, not because Connor deserved it, but because Hank was terrified of letting go of this resentment of androids that had been a part of his coping for so long. He thought about how the fuck all of that had lead to this whatever the fuck (because he was too old to be calling it a crush) feeling he had towards Connor now, because it was still  _ there  _ and it felt good but God so  _ bad _ that he couldn't have him. 

Oh, shit. Simon was still talking about Markus. Hank tried to pay attention, made interested noises and nodded when he was supposed to until Markus himself came to join them and Simon smiled the widest smile and placed a kiss on his cheek. Hank tried not to be jealous of the way they were together, holding one another. He kept his eyes always half on Connor. 

When the android finally finished the conversation and came over to them, he met Hank's eyes with a smile that Hank found himself reciprocating. 

“Hey, Hank. Sorry I was gone for so long, were you okay?” 

“I'm a big boy, Connor. I can look after myself.” Hank snorted. “And besides, I had Simon to keep me busy.” 

Connor nodded and grinned at Simon. “I hope he didn't cause too much trouble.” 

“Nothing I couldn't handle.” Simon smiled. “But if you both don't mind North has just sent us an S.O.S.” 

“That's alright, go rescue her.” 

Simon and Markus scurried off, making a beeline for North, who did look incredibly confused in her conversation with a guy in a leather puppy mask and elaborate harness over his bare, hairless chest. 

Hank chuckled. “Now that's a sight I miss.” 

“The man dressed as a seductive dog?”  

“The kinksters coming out and mingling with all the vanilla gays.” 

Connor's light ran yellow. “I see. That's… something.” 

“Don't knock it ‘til you've tried it.” Hank bumped his shoulder against Connor's with a smirk that raised his eyebrows skywards. 

Connor opened his mouth, apparently going to respond, but snapped it shut again quickly, shaking his head in an ‘I don't want to know’ gesture. He messed with the collar of his shirt with one hand and pulled out his coin with the other.

“You really wanna get this show on the road, huh?” 

Connor nodded, leaning against Hank's side. His arms were bare, be it as it were that he'd decided to wear a sleeveless button up for the parade. It had started off white, but some of the flag bearers had convinced him to let them tye dye it pink and blue during one of the preliminary meet ups that Hank hadn't attended. It was nowhere near his usual style, but Connor kept fiddling with the fabric and running his fingers over the white circles, as though he were amazed that someone would do something like this for him (which Hank was absolutely certain was the case since he'd spent about half an hour thanking everyone with the biggest grin on his face). 

“I'm excited. And nervous.” 

“It's your first pride, and you're marching. That's exactly how you should be feeling.” 

“What about you?” 

Hank thought about it. He could feel the nerves in his stomach, and alongside them a sick kind of worry. This was his big coming out. Today would probably be the best day in a long time (not to jinx it) but they would be on TV, and he knew that his colleagues would be watching, at least the ones in the station who had nothing better to do. 

He wanted to show them that he was there. That he was trans, he had always been trans and he always would be. He wanted to be visible.

“I'm excited as shit.” He wrapped an arm around Connor's shoulders. “And so nervous I might just puke. Exactly how it should be.”

“I wanted to thank you, Hank. Ever since the start of all this you've been there for me. I felt… lost. Finding out that I was trans in the way I did. I felt like a faulty model. Like CyberLife sent me out just because they couldn't be bothered to fix me. And I felt guilty, that I got to live as myself why so many people haven't been able to. But you teaching me all these things? Showing me those movies and telling me about yourself? It helped more than I think you'll ever be able to comprehend. I feel like I've done a really good thing, using my position - my privilege - in a way to help other trans androids. And I could never have done it without you.”

Suddenly Connor twisted around and pulled Hank in for a tight hug, burying his face in his shoulder, grabbing handfuls of his shirt. “I love you, Hank. You're the best friend I could ever have dreamed of, and I love you.” 

Hank's heart swelled to the point that it burst and he was picking up the broken pieces as he choked out a reply. 

“I love you too, Connor.” And fuck. Fuck did he. He  _ loved  _ Connor. He had a dumb fucking crush and he was hot for him and he  _ loved  _ him. He loved this fucking android, he loved  _ his _ fucking android.

Connor pulled away with somewhat wet eyes and gave Hank an amused grin. “No homo though, of course.” 

Hank laughed, though those words hurt more than a dumb fucking joke had any right to. “No homo.” He tousled Connor’s hair, letting his fingers catch and tug just a little, watching Connor smile in response, that one dimpled smile that he didn't think anyone else got to see.

Over the tannoy, the parade’s head organiser announced that all floats had been set up and everyone was ready to go. The entire room cheered, and pride commenced. 

It was midday, and Hank could feel the sun beating down on him as soon as they left the building. 

“Are you wearing sunscreen?” Connor asked, placing a cool hand on the back of Hank's neck.

“Practically swimming in it.” Hank grumbled. 

“Good. We're going to be in the sun for at least an hour, so you really need to be protected.” 

“What are you, my dad? I'm fifty three, I know how the sun works.” 

Connor squinted at him in the light. “Of course you do.” He didn't sound convinced.

Hank rolled his eyes and grabbed Connor’s hand, pulling him onwards towards the start of the parade, which could be seen from a mile away. The floats were impressive and the enthusiasm even more so. There were drag queens walking about in heels that likely could be used as weapons when removed; men in leather caps and harnesses with hairy stomachs and assless chaps; groups of women who varied from full plaid shirts and jeans to just nipple pasties and rainbow coloured tutus. It was pride. Hank felt euphoric. It was  _ pride _ .

Connor was to be far ahead of the floats. And since Hank was his plus one he was to walk right next to him. As they stood in their designated spot, waiting for everything to start and watching attendants rush about with bottles of water, Connor's head fell onto his shoulder. Hank let him and revelled in the touch and relative calmness. In a matter of minutes they would be caught up in the parade, cutting ribbons and high fiving attractive people as they passed (the organisers had explained that interacting with the crowds gathered to watch the parade was kind of an unwritten requirement to being in it, much to Connor’s confusion and mild chagrin and Hank’s utter horror). 

“Are you hydrated, Hank?”

“Connor, fella. Do me a favour and stop worrying about me.”

“Not going to happen. But I will stop nagging.”

“Thanks, bud.”

Again, a voice through a speaker broke their moment, telling everyone to get ready to march. The crowd had been allowed to grow closer to them, with a wall of news cameras at the ready ahead. Hank patted Connor’s back and stepped away, he didn’t want people to get the wrong idea. Connor glanced at him a moment but seemed unphased by the new distance between them. 

“Good afternoon Detroit!” The Mayor’s voice echoed from every float behind them, even though she was right in front. “I’m absolutely honoured to welcome you all to this year’s Pride parade! From our LGBT community to those here to show their support, our city is  _ proud  _ to be your home. And to those visiting just for the parade, we’re  _ proud  _ to have you. Detroit aims to be a city of progress -” Hank snorted and rolled his eyes. “- and of learning. We want to grow together and let eachother speak, and with that sentiment this year’s special guest to open the parade is Connor. Connor is a trans man and an android, and he’s been fighting tirelessly for the rights of people like him for months now. I’m  _ proud  _ to welcome him to the forefront of a new revolution.”

The crowd cheered as Connor walked up, smiling and waving to hug the Mayor and take from her a comically large pair of scissors. Hank couldn’t help but grin. Connor looked out of place but happy as anything. His arms in that shirt looked pretty damn good too. 

“Hello, everyone.” He sounded chipper and rehearsed, but it suited him. “I’m so honoured to be here. And I myself am proud to say that with the help of Markus here -” he gestured back to exactly where Markus and Simon stood holding hands, “ - I’ve been able to increase public access to two CyberLife facilities in which trans and gender non-conforming androids will be able to receive confirming upgrades. This isn’t perfect, of course, it’s expensive and localised to Detroit. We still have a long way to go, but I’m so incredibly pleased with our progress.” He lifted the scissors and positioned them on the ribbon. “Now, enough of me. Let’s start the parade.” 

As soon as the ribbon was cut, music burst forth from the float behind them and the people started quickly forward in a surge that caught Hank off guard. Someone nudged him rather forcefully and he got the hint, jogging to catch up with Connor at the front. To his surprise, when he reached him Connor grabbed his hand.

“I want to walk with you without us getting separated at all.” He smiled, a blue tinge in his cheeks, “I hope this is okay.”

“It’s fine, course. Yeah.” Hank nodded. Connor’s fingers were cold and shit, was Hank sweating? Did he have a sweaty palm? This might have just been to keep them together through the movement and confusion of the parade, but he didn’t want to make Connor uncomfortable,

“Are you going to unbutton your shirt?” Connor enquired, slowing down their pace so that they were more intermingled with the marching crowd and completely dragging Hank out of his panicked thoughts. 

“I think so, yeah. If the idiots at work don’t guess the whole trans thing by this,” He lifted the flag he was using as a cape, “They can probably figure out scars.” 

“Do you need me to let go so that you can get the buttons, then?” 

“I'll manage.” Hank smiled. He didn't want any reason to let go. With one hand he deftly undid the buttons and his shirt blew open in the breeze. “And before you ask, I did put sunblock on.”

“What? Oh, of course. You need to look after yourself, Hank.” Connor’s eyes were darting between his chest and the crowd ahead. 

“I know, man.” Hank squeezed his hand. “Wanna get the ‘saying hey to everyone’ out of the way so we can sneak onto the float and sit down when my legs get tired?”

Connor rolled his eyes. Their shoulders bumped together. “Let’s do it.” 

Diverting their walk up to the crowd at the fence was incredibly intimidating, and Hank was pretty sure that had Connor been human he would have broken his hand. But Connor was reinforced with steel or some shit, so he withstood it. It was all the more scary as the cheers and screams got louder with their approach. He let Connor do the smiling, the high fiving, the selfies - just held his hand the whole time and looked happy. Even just that was  _ exhausting _ . But Connor was getting shockingly into it, at least on the outside. He was grinning and joking with people above the ruckus, offering hugs to those who seemed like they wanted them, and in general doing his job to its fullest. When attention was drawn to Hank it was all he could do to not be uncomfortable. The constant question of ‘is he your boyfriend?’ was thrown around, and every time before Hank had even processed it Connor was shaking his head. 

Over the course of half an hour (half the time the parade would be marching for) his grip on Hank’s hand tightened, and after a certain point his LED caught on yellow and stuck there. After that half an hour - Hank imagined exactly on the thirty minute mark - Connor greeted one last person and waved the crowd goodbye, pulling Hank firmly back into the throng of marchers and falling back until they were in line with the first float. 

“Would you like to sit down?” he spoke pretty much directly into Hank’s ear, allowing him to be heard over the noise of everything around them but also sending a shiver down Hank’s spine.

Hank nodded and let Connor lead him over to the float, a twelve foot rainbow on wheels. With what seemed to be a metal frame with a thick fabric covering. The feet of the rainbow were completely in line with the base of the float, leaving no space on the side for the two of them to perch, however in the middle there was a cross section of metal that they hopped up onto. Hank’s legs felt instantly much better for not having all of his weight on them, but the music that was playing came from within the frame, meaning that holy  _ shit  _ it was loud. Hank grimaced and covered his ears, shooting Connor a quick ‘I can’t hear’ sign that he seemed to understand. Connor scooted up next to him, smiling and waving at members of the crowd that spotted him.

He pulled a notepad out of his pocket. Something that Hank imagined was entirely useless, what with Connor’s in-built filing system. And then he pulled out a pen and wrote at the top of the page in perfect font. 

_ Is this a good method of communication? _

Hank snorted and took the pen from Connor’s hand. Next to the immaculate font of Connor’s writing his spidery words looked messy and wobbly (but in his defence, the paper was resting on Connor’s thigh and they  _ were  _ on a float in a fucking parade).

_ Yeah, man. Don’t have any ear plugs in those pockets by any chance?  _

_ No, I’m afraid I do not _ . 

_ Eh, worth asking. I’m gonna be deaf after this is over with. _

_ Are you not enjoying yourself? Would you like to go home? _

Hank frowned and bumped his shoulder purposefully against Connor’s before he replied. 

_ Shit, no. This is the best fucking day ever. I’m a little overwhelmed by all the fuckin’ people you had to go and greet but once I recover from that and this parade is over I’m taking you clubbing. _

_ Hank. It will be one in the afternoon. _

_ Time is a flat circle.  _

_ I have no idea what you are referring to. One in the afternoon is a little early to start drinking, especially considering how quickly you tend to get drunk. _

_ Fine, no clubbing. But can we go see the cabaret stage later? _

_ Of course, whatever you want. _

_ Only if you want it at the time alright? _

_ I know. Thank you again for coming with me. _

_ No problem man. Sorry for cockblocking you today, making all those guys think I was your boyfriend.  _

_ Again I have no idea what you're saying. _

_ There were a bunch of dudes out there who totally want to take you home but I'm pretty sure they took one look at me on your arm and thought we were together.  _

Connor tapped his shoulder to give him a confused look. 

_ What makes you think I was attracted to them? Were you uncomfortable with me holding your hand? I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked in the way that I did - I knew it would be too leading -  _

Hank stilled Connor's hand, catching the worried eyes that darted up when he did. He kept his hand on Connor's and slipped the pen out of his grasp. 

_ I wasn't uncomfortable, Connor. Don't you worry about that. I wanted to hold your hand so I wouldn't be walking all alone, dumbass.  _

Connor crossed out the word ‘dumbass' with a grin before he wrote his own reply. 

_ Okay. Thank you. And I didn't notice any attractive men around, other than you. None that I was interested in, at least.  _

Uh. 

Hank stared at the notepad, trying to get it to tell him what exactly the fuck Connor meant by that. It was another compliment, but the way he  _ wrote  _ it. Was it meant to be a joke? A subtle jab? Was it sarcasm? Shit, Connor’s writing was harder to decipher emotionally than the monotone his voice slipped into at work. Was it meant to be a true statement? If so why had he written it like  _ that _ ? Was he interested in Hank? What did that _ mean _ ?

_ Nobody here good enough for you? _

_ I have some high standards.  _

Hank took a gamble. He circled the words ‘other than you’ and drew an arrow pointing to them, next to which he wrote his next words. 

_ Don’t seem too high. _

Connor held the pad in both hands and stared at it a moment, then he turned to stare at Hank. His brow was furrowed, LED circling yellow, again and again. Hank could feel the flicking of his eyes over his face bringing up a hot blush wherever they landed. Maybe Connor had found him attractive, and was reconsidering. Hank wouldn’t blame him for that. 

The android turned back to the paper and wrote his reply. 

_ They’re high enough that I don’t find anyone attractive unless they resemble you.  _

And holy shit. Oh shit. Oh fuck. That was a lot and sudden and  _ fuck _ . Hank felt his eyes bug out of his head.

_ I think you might be malfunctioning.  _

_ I can assure you I’m not.  _

Connor’s face was blue. His eyes were fixed on the paper. It might have been the parade, or the secrecy of this non-verbal exchange, but Hank felt a lightheaded dissociation as his hand moved to write out his response. 

_ If you’re so sure, how about I take you out to lunch after this? _

_ I thought you wanted to go to the cabaret stage? _

_ That ain’t exactly first date material, is it? _

Connor went completely still and Hank held his breath. What if he’d completely misread this? What if it wasn’t what he thought it was? Maybe Connor just liked complimenting people. Maybe it was some kind of skewed effort to help his self esteem. 

_ That’s true. In which case I would love to go for lunch with you.  _

He met Connor’s eyes. His face was still blue. Hank let out the breath he’d been holding slowly, an attempt to not seem as nervous as he was. But that was probably pointless. Connor could always scan him and find out just how fast his heart had started beating. Hell, he was sat right next to him, he could probably feel it. 

Hank glanced down at his watch. The digital face told him that it was twelve forty one. Fantastic. A solid twenty minutes for him to be nervous about. Exactly what he needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hank is an idiot im so proud of him 
> 
> also i have a hankcon discord server!! we talk about v important things like hanks tummy! hmu on tumblr (robotwunk) or twitter (@cecilseagull) for a link!! anyones allowed and currently there are only a few people so its always nice to have new faces!


	9. Date

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS IS IT I DID IT  
> IMPORTANT NOTES   
> \- the google docs for this fic is 69 pages (nice)   
> \- on thursday i went to my gp and they're going to get me on the waiting list to get a referral to a gender identity clinic! (unrelated i just personally love hearing abt when other trans people get further in their transition so i thought id pop it here)

The time passed with the aching slowness of watching a leaking faucet. They went back out into the crowd, walking alongside Markus and Simon and helping hold up a huge, holographic banner that read ‘trans rights are human rights’. Connor’s hand was still in Hank’s and this time more firmly. 

Hank found more and more people talking to him, both in and out of the marching group. And while that helped to pass the time, the amount of people that pointed out his age or Connor being an android when they spotted their hands was driving him up the wall. He couldn’t even use the ‘we’re just friends’ narrative to ward them off because shit, he’d asked Connor out! But he was enjoying himself. He found himself smiling and laughing along when someone made a dumb joke, found himself lifted by the euphoria of being in a crowd of queer people and grinning dumbly at Connor multiple times (thank God Connor grinned back). After a while he even managed to push the daunting prospect of his date with Connor to the back of his mind, allowing it to be a constant driving anxiety but also letting his excitement and enjoyment of the parade slip to the forefront. 

Finally the parade wound down. They marched down streets that became more cordoned off, with fewer members of the public and more rest spots where they could pick up bottles of water. And finally they reached the end of the road. There was a marquee set up in a grassy park, benches all around where the exhausted humans could rest. 

Hank didn’t even make it to a bench. He found a spot of grass that didn’t look trampled and fell to his knees and then stomach on it. 

“Tired?” Connor asked, sitting a lot more carefully beside him. 

“My legs are gonna fall off.”

“My scans show that they already have. What you’re feeling are phantom limbs.”

“You’re just gonna have to carry me to lunch then.”

Connor was quiet, and for a brief and chilling second Hank had the thought that maybe he was having second thoughts. But a look up at his face told a completely different story. Connor’s smile was small and soft and almost disbelieving. Hank got completely lost in it. 

“I suppose I am. Would - would you like to go to lunch now? I don't believe that I have any other obligations to attend until this evening. I can message Markus and tell him where we’re headed and he can cover for us.”

“That sounds, uh, real good. Yeah. Lets go.” 

And then the thought came up that stopped Hank completely, throwing his whole body into a twist of embarrassment.

“Wait, shit. You can’t eat. Why the fuck did I invite you out to lunch. Oh my God, I’m an idiot. This is like inviting a fucking blind person to a movie - I’m a dumbass, fuck. Oh my God.” He rolled over onto his back to cover his burning face with his hands. “Oh my shit, I’m so sorry.” 

Connor apparently found that realisation hilarious. His laugh was loud and unrelenting, a snorting fit that left him lying next to Hank on his side, covering his mouth to try and quiet down. 

“It's not that funny! I'm such a dumbass!”

“Hank, it's alright. I don't care if I can't eat.” Connor grabbed at Hank's shoulder, taking his hand away from his face and letting loose a wonky, delighted smile. “I said yes because I wanted to spend time with you, not because I was hungry. You didn't care about this when we went for drinks, remember?”

“Yeah, sure.” Hank nodded, sheepish. He could feel the heat still rising on his skin. That smile had caught him and stunned him so that he had no idea whatsoever what he'd meant to say. 

“Do you want to go then?” 

“Fuck. Yeah, man. I really do.” 

Connor pushed to his feet with absolutely no effort whatsoever and offered Hank a hand. His skin was still cool, even in the heat of the day as it was, with had a thirium tinge - probably his heat regulation actually working. 

“Where would you like to go?” 

Ah. Huh. That was something Hank hadn't considered. It was lunchtime, and this was Connor, so a restaurant would feel weird. A cafe then? 

Hank wasn't a cafe guy, he had no idea what constituted a good one other than what Google said. And he didn’t want to just fucking Google it, not with Connor right there. That felt like the worst date plan.

“Let’s walk around a little, see if we don’t find somewhere that catches our eye. We  _ are _ in the middle of the fucking city.”

“Are you gonna be alright with that?” Connor frowned. “What about your legs?”

“Get me a fuckin’ wheelchair if you’re so worried.” The LED twitched yellow. “Wait, goddamnit. Do  _ not _ get me a fuckin’ wheelchair!” Another yellow. “I was kidding. I can walk just fine.” He grabbed Connor’s hand and laced their fingers together again, pulling him down the road back towards the heart of the celebrations. “We can walk through all the gay shit, too.”

“Alright.” Connor sped up to reach Hank's side and matched his pace. He was quiet as they moved through the crowds to get back towards Ferndale, where the non-parade events were centred, and didn’t let go of his hand even when they didn’t need contact to keep together. Whenever Hank glanced at him he was looking around, scanning the faces of people as they passed. Maybe he was hoping he wouldn’t be recognised. Maybe he was hoping he would be. His face was placid with a touch of wonder, lips slightly parted, eyes wide and quick. 

They walked until they reached a large park filled to bursting with marquees and tents of queer businesses and support groups. Hank grinned and squeezed Connor’s hand.

“Wanna see if we can get any freebies before we grab food?” 

“I would like to talk to people.” Connor looked at Hank with fond exasperation. “If you’d like to find free stuff then, uh, go ham as it were.”

Hank grinned and winked. They approached the first stall together, but Connor immediately found a representative to talk to and Hank moved forward alone. Letting go of Connor’s hand left his arm feeling irritatingly light and split a small tear in his heart, but he moved on up to the table and surveyed the possible grabs. A pen, a leaflet on lesbians through the ages (both of which he grabbed) laid out on a slightly rumpled rainbow flag.

He looked back at Connor, and found him still deep in discussion with another android, so Hank wandered off around the other tables, snatching trinkets here and there, finding things he thought Connor would like and hoarding them in a tote bag he’d managed to find. 

“Hank, sorry I got distracted. Do you want to find somewhere to eat now?” Connor placed a hand on his bicep, startling Hank slightly. His skin was still so cool. 

“Oh! Yeah, let’s do it.” 

Connor’s hand slid down his arm, raising goosebumps and then twining his fingers with Hank’s. His android grinned and bumped his shoulder with Hank’s. Hank almost tripped as they started walking. Connor was strangely quiet as they let their feet lead them to a cafe nearby, but whenever Hank glanced at him Connor’s eyes were bright, and he seemed to be struggling not to smile. 

The cafe they ended up at caught Hank’s eye because of the windows. They were huge, floor to ceiling, and made slightly obsolete by the many, many messages written on them. Buckets on a small metal table offered washable markers, which Hank was assuming was what the messages were written in. The inside was just as joyous as the outside, and while Hank usually would have felt the ambiance stifling or just plain revolting, today it made him feel breezy. He was at pride, on a date with  _ Connor _ .

“What do you want to drink?” Hank asked, picking up a menu and scanning it.

“Coffee is the idea, right?” Connor smiled at Hank from across the table.

“Yeah, but on a day like this? Wouldn’t you prefer something cold?”

“The weather doesn’t really bother me.” Connor shrugged. “But I have an idea.” He placed his hand in the middle of the table, an open invitation. “You choose a drink for me.”

Hank let himself give into the temptation and softly covered Connor’s hand with his own. The smile Connor was still giving widened when he did. “You’re really gonna trust me to get you a drink? What if I get you something fuckin’ gross?”

“Well that would defeat the point of taking me on a date, wouldn’t it?”

Hank’s cheeks burned and he opened his mouth to counter that but - no, Connor was right. 

“You got me there.” And Hank went back to scanning the menu, his hand still atop Connor’s, feeling the pseudo-skin warm up as he kept it there. Connor didn’t have any traditional flavour preferences, he soon found out. He liked flavour shots in his coffee and artificial sweeteners - anything complex. 

“Are you ready to order?” The server asked, appearing from nowhere and setting a single set of cutlery on the table in front of Hank.

“Uh, yeah. I’ll get a, uh, sweet tea and a chicken mayo sub. And an iced coffee with soy milk, a pump of vanilla, and a pump of cherry - if you have it - for my boy here.” That sounded jack full of enough different chemicals that Connor would enjoy it. The waiter nodded, seeming slightly shocked that Connor was going to drink anything at all. When she walked away Connor tilted his head and squinted at Hank.

“Your boy?” He asked.

Oh, shit. 

“Uh, sorry. Didn’t mean to- to assume. I wasn’t sure what to, uh, say.”

“No, it’s - it’s good.” Connor turned his hand and slipped his fingers through Hank’s, tactile bastard that he was. “I like it.” 

“You do?”

“I do. I like being on a date with you, too.”

“That so?”

“Very much so.” Connor squeezed his hand. “Can I confess something, Hank?”

“It’s not a Sunday, but go wild.”

Yellow light. “Confession isn’t only held on Sundays.”

“Then go extra wild.” Hank swallowed over a lump that had formed unexpectedly in his throat at just how forward Connor seemed to be being.

“I was kind of, uh, hoping that you would ask me out.”

“You were.”

“Yeah. I don’t think I would have been the one to take initiative. I wouldn’t have known how.” Hank blinked, not sure how to respond, and Connor continued. “I’d have been afraid of scaring you off.”

“I’m not a wild animal, jackass. I don’t scare that easily.” 

Connor gave him a sceptical look. “You also don’t like acknowledging emotions.”

“Okay, touche. I’m, ah, really glad I asked you out.”

“And if I can confess something else?”

“Shoot.”

Connor’s eyes glinted. “I told you to wear your shirt open solely for myself.”

Hank coughed. “You what?” 

“I might have been being, uh.” Yellow again, he was looking for a word. “Thirsty.” 

“Okay, never say  _ that  _ word again, Jesus.” Hank ran a hand over his beard. “Thirsty? For what, this?” He pulled his hand away from Connor’s and his shirt open, bearing his whole chest to Connor. 

“Yes.”

“Okay, then riddle me this.” Hank covered back up quickly, red and self conscious. “Why the fuck did your light just go red?”

Connor reached up to his temple. His face went blue. “Oh, uh.” He pressed his fingers over the LED, hiding it from view. “That’s. Ah.” His hand slid down to cover his eyes. “That would be my system reacting to something I find attractive or, uh, stimulating. It’s also an indication of stress - but I haven’t been getting stressed very often.”

It took a moment for it to click in Hank’s head. Holy shit. “That’s what it’s been this  _ whole time _ ?” All those times he’d been worried about Connor breaking or overloading. “You’ve been fuckin’ horny?” 

Connor groaned. “Not - well, shit, yes.” He smoothed his hair back, uncovering his face in all it’s blue embarrassment. “Yes, some of the time it’s been that - if you want to say it like that.”

Their drinks arrived before Hank could rip any more into Connor for that, and he watched Connor chug his coffee as his blush calmed down a little.

“Good drink?” 

“Yes. Would you like a taste?” Connor swallowed quickly and held the glass out to Hank. It tasted exactly how Hank was expecting it to. An offensive mix of chemicals that Connor had added too much Splenda to. He made a face and handed it back. 

“That tastes like something, that’s for sure.” 

“I think you have bad taste, Hank.”

“I think you’re wrong. You have bad taste.” He gestured to himself. “I mean look at what you consider handsome!” It felt weird coming out of his mouth, and had his heart spluttering slightly. Connor found him attractive. 

“You’re a negatively biased party.” 

“And you’re positively biased!”

“I can bring North over, if you’d like. Someone neutral.”

“You wanna bring a lesbian into our date, Connor?” 

Connor rolled his eyes, his stern face cracked into a smile. “Mhm.”

“That your only response?”

“Mhm.”

Hank stretched across the table and placed his hand over Connor’s mouth. Connor raised an eyebrow. 

“That’s to stop you talking bullshit.” 

And naturally, because Hank was a fool who’d forgotten about Connor’s lack of boundaries  _ especially _ with his mouth, he was shocked when Connor poked his tongue out and licked his palm. A current ran straight down to his dick, freezing him in place, hand still on Connor’s mouth. So of course Connor licked him again. Fuck. He managed to convince himself to move enough to get his hand away from Connor’s face. And Connor was quiet, picking his drink up and sipping it at a more normal pace than earlier.

Hank could feel just how red he’d gone again. Fuck, what was it with him. He picked up his sandwich and shoved it into his mouth, taking a huge bite. 

“You taste better than my drink.”

Hank choked on the food. He  _ what _ ? He stared at Connor, whose face was deceptively blank but truthfully blue. 

“Excuse me?” He coughed. 

“You taste better than my drink.” Connor was speaking quieter than he had been, those brown eyes on Hank’s lips. “More exciting.” 

Hank shifted in his seat. God damn it. “Huh.” He played for casual, taking another bite of his sandwich and waiting until he’d swallowed to speak more. “That’s interesting.”

“It is.” Connor nodded and tipped back his cup to get the last dregs of his coffee. His jawline really was something. Damn.  

Hank couldn’t really think of anything more to say while he finished his sandwich, so he just watched Connor analyse the place. It was easy to tell when he was scanning things; his eyes moved faster than usual, becoming oddly sharp or glazing over slightly at intervals. His head barely moved. Hank ate his meal without tasting a bite, too caught up in watching his date (his  _ date _ ) do his thing. 

“Do you want to go walking again?” He asked, accidentally jolting Connor out of his thought.

“Oh, yeah. Sorry, I didn’t mean to get distracted. I hope I wasn’t bad company.”

Hank rolled his eyes and stood up, offering Connor his arm which Connor took with a small smile. “I was eating. You’re fine.”

“But still, this is a date. I didn’t mean to be boring.” 

“You hold that thought, but get ready to throw it the fuck away.” Hank said, pulling his credit card out and holding it out to the person at the cash register. Once he’d payed, and they’d stepped outside the door, he pulled Connor to the side and turned to face him. 

“You weren’t boring, dumbass.”

“I’m beginning to think you might use insults as a form of affection, Hank.” Connor smiled. 

“Yeah, it’s almost as if I like you or something.” 

“I like you too.”

“Yeah? Well shit.” 

Oh. Connor’s face was - it was so close. Hank could feel his simulated breath, cold and with a faint rubber scent. In this light his eyes toed the line between coffee and chocolate. They flicked from Hank’s eyes to his lips, too slow to be analysing. And his lips. Fuck. His lips were so close, soft and thin, parted and inviting. Was he allowed? This was a date, but - it was a  _ date _ . 

Hank took a gamble. It was a day of it. It was pride, for fucks sake, if he didn’t kiss the guy now, when would he? He leaned forwards, keeping his eyes open, keeping his pace slow. And Connor met him in the middle. 

Hank sighed when their lips met. Relief, happiness, whatever it was. It came out in his breath. The kiss didn’t stay together for long, though their lips did. They were too busy smiling, the both of them. Brief pecks in between dumbfounded grinning. 

And then a camera clicked to the side, and Connor pulled away to look. 

“Paparazzi, huh.” Hank frowned, flipping the photographer off and watching them scuttle away, still snapping pictures.

“Could have caught me at a worse moment.” Connor shrugged. “At least now in interviews I may get asked who my hot boyfriend is, rather than what’s in my wiring.”

Hank snorted and kissed him again. “Maybe, you trans dumbass. Maybe”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DUMB IDIOTS FINALLY WORKED THEMSELVES OUT HUH
> 
> if you liked this, im currently working on more hankcon fic! nothing is published yet but you can follow me on tumblr (@robotwunk) to find out more. i also have a hankcon discord that i'd be happy to link you to if you message me on there! it's open to anyone and we talk about important shit like hank's tummy and how connor will eat ANYTHING


End file.
